Bill Hicks was the funniest man who ever lived; and to anybody who says different, there’ll be no Jaffa Cakes for you when you come round my house.
Bill reckoned that the day you start to worry about the state of your lawn is the day that your life is effectively over.
Like most things Bill said, this is true.
So guess what I bought last week?
That’s right, a lawnmower.
I simply couldn’t be fagged driving into town and then paying for the privilege of parking in Lancaster, lugging the thing back to the car and then driving home.
So instead I ordered one (miles cheaper) off the internet on my phone and got it delivered to the door the next day for less than the cost of a pint in town.
My wife tells me it’s a lot less bovver than a hover.
I wouldn’t know because she does all the gardening and I’ve only cut the grass once since we bought the place in July 1997.
Last week, to be precise, when the Flymo we got as a wedding present in 1998 fell apart in my hands.
Anyway, it looks lovely in the shed and the lawn looks like Wembley Stadium’s pitch on cup final day.
And that’s not all that’s changed around here.
After going to parents’ evening at daughter #1’s school last week it turns out that she’s good at maths.
So good in fact that she’s umming and ahhing about doing it at A level.
This is truly a revelation in our family.
I’m 45 with more letters after my name than in it and still can’t do long division.
My dad’s best mate designed warships for a living and was called in to help me pass CSE maths in the mid-80s.
He drew chimneys on the longest bit of triangles and called them a “high pot in use”, whatever that meant.
He’d throw mud at a wall for two hours every Friday night in the hope some of it would stick.
It did, for a month around exam time, and then it all fell off.
Thankfully daughters #1 and #2 have no such problems.
They must get it from their mum – and their phenomenal teachers.