I CAN’T go to work. I don’t have a thing to wear. No, I am not a cross-dresser. I genuinely don’t have a thing to wear. Not to an office anyway. If I worked in a garage, or I was a painter (of pictures or houses — it wouldn’t matter) I could provide an extensive wardrobe of work clothes; but a pair of conservative trousers with creases (down the front), a zip that works, no rips, no paint, no grease and no stains is beyond my capabilities. Yesterday was different. Yesterday I had a pair of grey trousers that the chairman of News Limited would have been proud of. But…

BY rights my entire family should be bald. I have looked under the bed. So that’s where all the hair went! A two-dollar coin rolled under there and I went hunting for it. The memory still haunts me at night while I sleep in a chair. I am never getting back into that bed! It covers a desiccated soup of decay and hair, which, as anyone who has unblocked a drain will know, lasts forever. There are so many minute, white scaly bits under my bed, with the hair balls, that it looks like a mummy fell apart under there. Or Frankenstein is collecting the bits for his next experiment.…

There’s a bucket in the shower. And one in the kitchen. Tomorrow there’ll probably be one in the lavatory. Oh God. It’s National Water Week. Did you know that there is exactly the same amount of water in the world as there was a million years ago? And that if you go to the tap now and pour yourself a glass of the stuff, it will have been down the throats of dinosaurs, dodos, and dogs several hundred times before. It will also have exited those same creatures in a variety of ways – all of them unsavoury and not fit for discussion. And if we don’t start treating the…

People lay awake at night fretting about whether they are compatible with their intended partners. She’s a catholic; I’m a protestant. He’s a socialist; I’m a capitalist. Even Romeo and Juliet had the problem. He’s a Montague; I’m a Capulet. Waste of good sleeping time. Compatibility in bed (as Romeo and Juliet would confirm if they were still alive) will get a young couple through anything. Almost anything. Bugger religion, if you’ll pardon the expression. Bugger politics. But if you use a brush to do the washing up, and she uses a cloth – you’re doomed. If he hums while he’s driving, she’ll kill him one day. If he pulls…

AS I was saying, why do women have a non-negotiable expectation that men will put the seat back down when they’ve finished. It defies logic and all the rules of sexual equality. Work it out… I go to the lavatory to do number ones… I lift the seat… I pee… I replace seat… I leave. She goes to the lavatory (except in her case it’s the toilet)… she does the number ones (or the number twos for all the difference it makes)… she leaves. This is grossly unfair. I’ve touched the bloody thing twice and she touches it never. Except with her bum of course, but that doesn’t count. It…