DEPUTY Mayor Ann Bunnell would be proud of me. Ann says Townsville doesn’t recycle enough. But I’m one of the dedicated few doing the right thing. I even compost all the disgusting leftovers associated with cooking. But I want a few answers. We are not being told the whole truth about recycling. Take ballpoint pens. Plastic mostly, with an incy bit of metal on the end and a thin vein of ink running down the middle. Almost entirely non-biodegradable. Where are they then? If ballpoint pens last so long why isn’t the city’s landfill choked with the bloody things? How come we don’t skid into our offices, schools and lounge…

OKAY — it’s December 1, so I can now talk about Christmas. I wasn’t game to before because Christmas in November tastes as wrong as mince pies in July. I’m one of those people who shake their heads and suck in air through their teeth when the first shop decorations appear shortly after halloween. I should be grateful. They serve as a warning shot across my bows. But it doesn’t make any difference; I’m never ready for Christmas and I don’t care. Every year Christmas Eve arrives and I’m spinning like a kid’s top with my arm — symbolically at least — stuck up the turkey’s bum. But that doesn’t…

Not all nations have stubby holders Stubby holders should come with instructions. Follow me through on this while I tell you a true story. Not all countries in the world need stubby holders. In England, for instance, where tepid beer is a delicacy, you couldn’t fill a fridge with the stubby holders in the entire country. If you asked for one they’d give you an ashtray. When I arrived in Australia (yes, I used to be a Pom) I dutifully rendezvoused with a family I had been assured would care for me in those first difficult days. They were going to a christening. They apologised for abandoning me, told me…

We thought the world was our oyster, us baby boomers. We were the product of postwar optimism. Everyone was building a new world and all over the country couples were at it like knives almost before the troops had cleared the gangplanks. Nobody told us back then that age would happen. You imagine you’ll be ready for it, but it creeps up and grabs your tender bits when you least expect it. Like while you’re sitting in a barber’s chair. I’ve had my hair cut. I’ve had hairs cut that I don’t really want to talk about, but you have to deal with these things. Life goes on, even if…

We thought the world was our oyster, us baby boomers. We were the product of postwar optimism. Everyone was building a new world and all over the country couples were at it like knives almost before the troops had cleared the gangplanks. Nobody told us back then that age would happen. You imagine you’ll be ready for it, but it creeps up and grabs your tender bits when you least expect it. Like while you’re sitting in a barber’s chair. I’ve had my hair cut. I’ve had hairs cut that I don’t really want to talk about, but you have to deal with these things. Life goes on, even if…