These days I often seem to come late to the party.  Not that I get asked to many parties.  Not since, thanks to a misprint on the invitation, I turned-up at a toga party wearing a goat.

I only recently heard that since January, the NHS is requesting GPs to send selected patients on a six-week comedy course.  A pilot scheme was launched in Bristol, designed to help patients with anxiety, depression and post-traumatic stress to ‘See the funny side of their predicament’.  I had to be physically restrained from making any comment about that.

The comedy courses are being held at Bristol University, which has a ‘Comedian-In-Residence’.  Of course it has!

You don’t need a degree to guess that a University Comedian-In-Residence wouldn’t be an individual who spent years fighting for laughs in noisy social clubs with beer-stained carpets and beer-filled customers.  Especially when they proclaim that “We are all natural comedians” – which I don’t think is necessarily true.

I’ve encountered many people sadly lacking a sense of humour.  Why they tend to congregate at my gigs is something I can’t explain!

The Comedian-in Residence also says that after people have completed the six-week comedy writing and performance course they feel six inches taller.
Which is a bit of a stretch.  See what I did there?

I honestly think this course is a bit risky because stand-up comedy is not for anyone already feeling anxious and stressed.  Being a comedian creates its own anxieties and stresses.  If you come off stage having failed to engage with an audience, your self-esteem takes a right old battering.  That said, I sincerely hope each patient who takes the course finds it beneficial.

I’ll finish with a medical joke.

A surgeon tells a patient on whom he’d operated that it went well and he can go home. The surgeon then whispers, “You see that beautiful nurse over there? She’s invited me to dinner tonight and wants me to go back to her flat afterwards for champagne and nibbles.”  The patient replies, “That’s very nice. But why are you telling me?”  And the surgeon says, “I’m telling everyone!”

Traffic and parking seem to be my main pet hates . . . at the moment!

Parking fines are on the increase. If issued by the local authority, they can be considered another ‘stealth tax’.

It also frustrates me greatly when I see parking charges increasing in our local town car parks – the very towns that are struggling to fill commercial properties and shops.

Small businesses are fighting hard to maintain market share and attract customers.  Increasing parking costs deters a steady flow of customers with the potential to spend money, which, in turn, supports the local community.

If I was Prime Minister, I would insist that every councillor, member of parliament and assembly member undertake a recognised qualification in business studies, marketing and management.  Why on earth are we still voting for and electing candidates that have very little or no business or management acumen?

The majority of local government members and councillors that I have personally engaged with over the years demonstrate little understanding of grassroots business matters and what drives the local economy.  This is evident today, in the run-up to the local elections – and makes me question their reasons for taking on the job.

For money to be spent locally, we need thriving towns and communities. Otherwise, we will spend our hard-earned cash out of the area via the motorways – and I don’t fancy that . . . because I hate traffic.

Rant over.

Settle down, children!  You at the back. Take that chewing gum out of your mouth immediately!

What? Where can you put it? I’ll tell you exactly where you can put it.
Behind your ear. No! The left one. You still have yesterday’s gum stuck behind your right ear.

Today, I want to discuss how people are badly treating the English language in everyday conversations and the media.

This is not new territory.

Some years ago I wrote about the mystery (or should that be mys’ery?) of the missing letter ‘T’ from people’s conversations due to the influence of Estuary English made popular by “Eastenders”.  Or should that be “Eas’enders”?

Even people who’ve never watched the soap talk that way after talking to people who have watched it.

Still with me?

“The Mys’ery Of The Missing T”, which was a tongue-in-cheek dig at the sloppy way that many people speak these days, still hasn’t been solved.
In fact, it’s become even more noticeable. Or should that be no’iceable?

You’ll see a pattern emerging here.  Or should that be a pa’ern?

My grammar is important to me (and so is my grandpa – sorry, couldn’t resist!) and although I’ve never claimed to be a brilliant ‘spellist’, in my job the words I use have to be clearly understood.

You’d think TV news reporters would have the same attitude, yet I once heard a reporter refer to an event that happened “Several mumfs ago”!
There’s still a dent in the wall where I banged my head…repeatedly.

I often hear people say things that make my toes curl and my teeth itch.
There was one particular occasion when my toes itched and my teeth curled, which was a real challenge to my dentist.

A while ago in a Cardiff café I overheard a conversa’ion be’ween two women tha’ went roughly like this… “Comin’ ow with me and Trace on Sa’urday?”
“No. Cele’bry Catchphrase and An’ n’ Dec’s on. And Jonafan Ross”
“Don’ you have Ne’flix?”
“Used oo. Couldn’ find nuffink to watch.”
“‘Is go’ some fascina’in documen’ries.”
“They’s borin’ they is”.
“Look a’ the time! We berrer  g’ back to work!”
“Yeah. The Depar’men’ Of  Educashun won’ run i’self.”

Well – I’m glad Easter is over; there is only so much chocolate one can eat.
Safely.  Personally, I didn’t have any Easter eggs, but everywhere I went there were chocolate eggs for sale.

For the record, I’ve picked a few up today at a fraction of the price they were last week.  It was worth the wait.

Don’t judge me on this.

We all like a bargain from time to time. We all have our funny ways and if we were all ‘perfect’ or the same, life would be so flipping boring, and I wouldn’t have anything to write about every week.  In fact, you would probably see me sitting in a coffee shop somewhere, staring into my cup. Can you imagine?

We should all embrace and celebrate our differences.

Many of the greatest people in history often didn’t fit in. Yet not fitting in turned out to be a huge asset for them.

They possibly didn’t know this at the time, but by being true to themselves and applying a good work ethic, they stood out and greatness was achieved.
Maybe this is something we could all think about?

Are you familiar with the expression “Less is more”?   It was once used in various theatrical circles and certain London squares, but moved into common parlance a while ago.

It originally suggested that actors might improve their performance by toning things down a little, either vocally or physically.  I don’t mean to offend those of you who like or possibly insist on having value for money when you go out to be entertained, but surely there’s a limit to how many bangs you can have for your bucks when it comes to returning to the cinema?

I understand people have been doing so for certain films like Spiderman – No Way Home, which is 150 minutes long and the remake of West Side Story, which clocks in at 156 minutes.

It seems that many of today’s film makers think ‘More is more!’  Directors may know when to say ‘Cut’ after a take, but they don’t seem to know when to say “You know something? I need to cut at least an hour out of this” in the editing suite.

The latest in the never-ending remakes, reboots and re-imaginings of the Batman saga, called…wait for it …“ The Batman”…is three hours long.
Holy toilet break, Batman!

Even the recent James Bond film, “No Time To Die” was two hours and 45 minutes long.

At least in the days of massive Hollywood epics like “Ben-Hur”, “Spartacus” and “El Cid”, audiences were given a 20-minute intermission midway through.
Never was the need for ice creams and soft drinks more intense than after audiences had travelled across parched deserts under a merciless sun during the first two and a quarter hours of probably the greatest ‘epic’ of them all – the four-hour plus “Lawrence Of Arabia”.

Peter Jackson’s “Lord Of The Rings” trilogy was, at nine hours, plus all the DVD extras, the last word on the subject. Right? Wrong!  There’s a new “LOTR” TV series which is 50 hours long!

Binge-watching box sets is not for me. You might say… I can’t get into The Hobbit!

See you in the cheap seats. Provided the film’s only 90 minutes long!

Isn’t this time of year uplifting?
It’s much easier to wake up in the morning when the sun is streaming through the window and the birds are singing.  The daffodils are out and the distant sound of the Sunday strimmers are back.

Having said that, we can’t always guarantee that sun streaming moment in Wales.  We seem to have a lovely sunny weekend, where we all pack away our thermal vests and dig out the socks and sandals, then the week after we’re defrosting the car and dodging the gritter lorry, as you walk down the road and get a free one-sided facial exfoliation courtesy of the council.  And another weather-related thing while we’re on the subject… why is it always windy on the evening I put my paper and plastic recycling out?

My apologies to all those that witnessed me running down the road chasing my blue bags last week, like Benny Hill chasing a row of scantily clad ladies through the park. How times have changed. He would never get away with that now.

Anyway, Spring is well and truly here and things are looking up.  Let’s hope for a bit more peace and understanding in future months.  I remember my grandad always used to say, “You’ve got to pick your battles.”  Which is why he was dishonourably discharged from the Army!

In the “Beat The Clock” segment of ITV’s legendary variety show “Sunday Night At The London Palladium”, contestants had thirty seconds to re-arrange random words attached to a magnetised board into a ‘Well Known Phrase Or Saying’.

For example. “NINE. IN. SAVES. STITCH. A. TIME.”  No, you work it out for yourself.

“Beat The Clock” wouldn’t work today because so many phrases and sayings of the past are no longer well-known, according to a new study commissioned by Perspective Global (Don’t ask me.  I thought you might know who they are).

Many people they surveyed were unaware of sayings once commonly used in conversation – and some of you might still use them.

Let me ‘Nail my colours to the mast’ here – meaning I’m declaring it quite openly – I think it’s sad these quirky old saying are dying out,

Incidentally that particular saying originated in the 18th Century when during nautical battles, ships would hang their colours (or flags) from their masts. If the mast was damaged by enemy cannon balls, the Captain would either lower the flag to show submission or hang what was left of the flag to the remnants of the rigging to clearly show he had no intention of surrendering.

Hence ‘Nailing his colours to the mast’.

I’m familiar with the expression, but according to the study an astonishing 70% of people questioned hadn’t, indicating they didn’t ‘Know their onions’.
Anyone who does know their onions is well-informed and depending on your source of information the saying either refers to British lexicographer C.T. Onions who helped compile the Oxford English Dictionary in the 1960’s or it was coined by an American literary magazine at the beginning of the 20th Century.

If you know which version is correct, you’re not as daft as you’re cabbage looking.

That’s enough examples because a nod’s as good as a wink and I’ll keep my cards close to my chest and my powder dry.

I realise language changes over time, but we should retain these old sayings and ensure we don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.

Cheerio. I’m off to see a man about a dog…

Until I was asked to write a regular column for this esteemed publication, I never imagined I’d be asked to write a regular column for this esteemed publication.  I mean, who’d be daft enough to believe a stand-up comedian could fill a page with informative and (hopefully) amusing content week after week, never running out of things to say?

That was a rhetorical question because obviously I know who was daft, err, astute enough to ask me, but he’d rather remain anonymous.  He has a family and a wide circle of influential friends, so you can’t really blame him, can you?

It was a leap of faith on his part and mine when I first started writing for the paper because, although as a comedian I  express all sorts of views and opinions in my act, it’s different to the discipline of setting time aside every week – even when I’m on holiday – to write them down in a coherent style.
The only way to find out if I could deliver the goods every week was by learning on the job – one that I soon started to love, once I had a half-dozen columns under my belt.

When there’s a news story I feel the need to comment on, the words can come fairly easily.  But most weeks, I spend so long trying to get a piece right, re-writing and changing things, I feel like the sculptor who when asked how he managed to create a statue of a horse said “I keep chipping away at the stone until all that’s left is a horse” .

The importance of local newspapers in this digital age is brought home to me every time I’m approached by a member of the public who says they enjoy reading my ramblings every week.  They really make me feel part of the community and I hope to continue ‘chipping away at the stone’ for them every week in this paper for as long as I’m allowed.

I sometimes get asked where I get my ideas for my stage act and the articles I write for this esteemed publication.

As an aside, I must look up the word ‘esteemed’ in the dictionary one day.  I used it then because ‘esteemed’ just seems to fit together smoothly with ‘publication’. To be honest I can’t recall using the word in any other sentence.

It’s a bit like the word ‘Bundled’. You never hear about anyone being ‘Placed’ or ‘Helped’ into a police car do you? They’re always ‘Bundled’, a word you never hear in any other context.

No one says “You’ll never guess what happened to me last night! My mates bundled me into the Dog and Duck, The Red Lion, The Rose and Crown and finally The Pride Of India restaurant where they bundled a large chicken vindaloo and chips into me!”

Where was I?

Oh yes, I was going to tell you where I get my ideas from.

But before I do, I just thought of another word we only ever use in one context. ‘Umbrage’. We don’t give it, lend it or borrow it. We only ever ‘take’ Umbrage.  Why is that?

Here’s another question for you. When you’re sat in the house waiting for the gas man, the carpet fitters or the TV repair man (and if you’re really having a bad day, all three), what do you ‘twiddle’?

No, sir, I’m not talking to you! Per-leez!!

In general, what’s the only thing we ‘twiddle’? Our thumbs, right?

But imagine if the word ‘twiddle’ had never been invented and instead we used some other everyday word

“So, what did you do yesterday?”

“I waited in for the plumber all day, pruning my thumbs!”

When something leaves us disappointed and we just accept it, we tend to ‘shrug’ our shoulders and move on.  We never ‘shrug’ our knees and elbows. Although it might be very funny to see someone try it, particularly the ‘tough’ idiots who insist on wearing shorts in freezing cold weather!

You’ve given me an idea for a routine and I didn’t even have to look for it.
Thanks!

We’re well into spring. We’ve had some mild, sunny days and the early evenings are lighter for longer.  So, what better time to start seriously thinking about where to go for Christmas lunch?

Actually, I can think of a much better time.  Midnight on December 24th.

However, according to a deluge of unsolicited e-mails I’ve received recently from hotels and restaurants, I should look at their ‘sumptuous’ Christmas menus and consider how many lunch guests to pay a deposit for.

Yikes! It’s not even Easter and they want me to start spending money on Christmas!  But that’s our world today.

We are constantly cajoled, pushed, persuaded…blackmailed even…into spending money on events and ‘special days’ from January to December.

You may remember my article about the naked greed of supermarkets which, from the moment they’ve sold the last garden table, chairs and parasol set on August Bank Holiday Monday, cover all bases in their effort to prise every last coin out of your hands. Overnight, shelves groan under the weight of Halloween tat.

Posters go up advertising November 5th Fireworks for sale . . . to adults only.
And, as the staff hang tinsel and plastic Santas on the remaining shelf space, the same 25 Christmas songs we hear every year start playing in the background.

And all this happens, not as Johnny Mathis tells us “Because a child is born” but because the owners of supermarkets and the manufacturers and importers, whose goods we buy, want to take our cash from us. It’s as simple as that.

So, when an ad pops up on my laptop, asking “Have you thought about spending Christmas and New Year with us at the No Sea View Hotel and ‘Spar’ (the shop is open Christmas morning for those last-minute gifts like a packet of cooked ham and a can of WD40”) I shout at the screen in my best Noddy Holder voice…  “No! Because it’s March. NOT Chriiiisss…mas!”