Groucho Marx famously quipped, “I refuse to join any club that would accept me as a member”.  There are numerous ‘clubs’ that I refuse to join – which, being honest, is all I have in common with Groucho.

TV soap fans are members of a ‘club’ I’d never join. I don’t watch soaps and don’t want them cluttering-up my evening’s viewing.

Years ago, when “Emmerdale” was just an allotment full of mangled wurzels. I once glanced up from my homework to see a couple of ruddy-faced yokels leaning on a wooden gate, pointing at a herd of cows with gnarled walking sticks and wondered what a herd of cows were doing with gnarled walking sticks – but that was my only exposure to the long-running soap.

As for “Coronation Street”, has Ena Sharples bought a new hairnet recently?
There are ‘clubs’ devoted to epic TV series that feature sword-swinging, fierce-faced warriors with muscular names like Oaken Thunderbolt-Chewer, Ironjaw Headsplitter and Professor Brinley Llewellyn-Jones.
Err…maybe I mis-heard that last one?

I know they cost a fortune to make and they’re popular with zillions of fans, but sitting through tortuous, sword-clanging hours of “Game Of Thrones”, “House Of The Dragon” and “The Rings Of Power”, the “Lord Of The Rings” continuation, has absolutely no appeal for me.
Yes, I do know some of them are filmed in Wales using Welsh talent.
But, look at it this way – by avoiding these shows I’m not being disloyal to the land of my fathers. I’m being ultra-loyal to my retinas.

To put it in simple terms – life is much too short and these series are far too long.

The latest and, I understand from what I’ve heard, most controversial series of “The Crown” recently started. You may be a member of ‘the club’ who enjoy it.

Personally, I’ve as much interest in the Royal Family as they have in the method Phil Evans uses to grout his bathroom tiles.

So why would I watch a bunch of actors impersonating them while speaking made-up dialogue?
As for my opinion on the Doctor Who ‘club’, well let me…

(Phil. You’ve exceeded the required number of words. Ed)

I recently visited Newport on business and set off early in case I ran into heavy traffic or a jack-knifed lorry.  Luckily, I didn’t meet any such problems. You seldom do when you travel by train.

I arrived early and wandered into a cafe, sat down and was immediately approached by a pleasant lady who asked me if I wanted to order a hot drink.
She didn’t work there. She was just the curious type. (Joke!)

I said: “I’d like a coffee and a cheese toastie, please. And I’d like the coffee with the sandwich and not before. Thanks.”   What, apart from a glass of water and a biscuit, could have been simpler?

Two minutes later a cup of coffee arrived – just as I hadn’t requested.
A couple sat at the next table and ordered two full English breakfasts.
A different waitress asked if I wanted any sauces.
I looked down at the table and said, “I’ve got nothing to put the sauce on”. She went away.  Twenty-five minutes had passed.
Two full English breakfasts were served to the couple on the next table.
By now my coffee was cold and my temper was hot, so I said to one of the waitresses, “Excuse me. That couple arrived after me and they’ve already been served.”  She said, “Your breakfast won’t be a minute!”
I said: “I didn’t order a breakfast. I ordered a cheese toastie!”

Behind the counter, all four waitresses huddled together, muttering in between giving me sideways glances, until eventually the waitress who’d taken my order said, “I forgot to put your order in! It won’t be long!”
No apology. No offer of a free hot drink to make amends for their sloppiness.
So, I paid for my cold coffee and headed for another cafe, where I ordered a toasted tea cake that took 20 minutes to reach my table, despite the place being almost empty. The waitress’s excuse? “We had to wait for the tea cake to toast!”   Oh! The tea cake required toasting before it became a toasted teacake! That explains it!

A few years back, Newport had a new £100 million shopping centre, complete with several well-known chain restaurants that pride themselves on efficient, pleasant service. The two independent cafes I visited will need to raise their game in a hurry if they want to survive.

After my meeting, I was asked where I’d like to have lunch.
My reply? “Swansea!”

I don’t know why theatrical anecdotes appear more interesting than anecdotes related to other professions, but they do.

While appearing in a West End play, in the middle of a scene, Sir Ralph Richardson walked to the edge of the stage and asked the classic question,“Is there a doctor in the house?” When someone  called out from the stalls “I’m a GP!”, Sir Ralph, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, said “Doctor. Isn’t this a terrible play?”

When Sir Peter Hall was running the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford-Upon-Avon, one of his many tasks was to decide what plays they’d be staging each season and which of the actors from the RSC company would be cast in them.    Do bear in mind that I’m recalling this story from many years ago, but as I remember it, the actors wouldn’t know who would be playing what part until Sir Peter hung the play cast lists up on the wall outside his office, a month or so before the new season commenced.

Naturally, the actors would be anxious to know what they’d be appearing in – or conversely if their services wouldn’t be required for the next year.

With me so far?

One long-standing member of the company, an elderly gentleman I’ll call Abernathy Farquhar, wasn’t a particularly good actor – in fact, Peter Hall wanted to retire him at the end of every season. But out of loyalty (a quality in short supply in the theatre world) he kept him employed with minor walk-on/walk-off parts.  Sir Peter was in his office one morning, having just hung up the cast lists for the following season.   There was a knock on the door and in walked Abernathy Farquhar.    “Sir Peter”, he said “I’ve just looked at the next season’s cast lists and see that I shall be in three productions, for which I humbly thank you”.  Sir Peter nodded and remained silent.
Abernathy continued “I wonder…Sir Peter…as I have been with the company for over 30 years…might it be possible to have my name printed on the posters separately… in this manner. “…and with Abernathy Farquhar?”
Without missing a beat, Sir Peter, famous for his scathing wit, replied “How about…despite Abernathy Farquhar?”

It’s that time of year when every retailer wants our hard-earned cash and we are constantly tempted to part with it as those special offers are all around us.  But do we really need all these bargains, or are we just seduced into becoming serial impulse buyers?

At home, clutter and waste is all around us in one form or another.
Things we don’t use or need – and, quite often, bought on impulse.

You know what happens after the big Black Friday sales?  I’ll tell you.

A lot of people who bought new big screen TVs will take them home, hook them up and then realise they need to do something with their old TVs.
Same is true with other things they bought.  Whether it be exercise equipment, bikes, toys, furniture, books, even high-end audio gear, they’ll want to get rid of the old to make room for the new.

A lot of unwanted items will end up at your local charity shop, which makes this a good time of the year to visit those stores – because they’ll be overflowing with goodies.   You pick up bargains, charities make more money
Chances are, you’ll find some real bargains there.  It’s win-win!

So…have you noticed it’s crept back in?
I’m referring to the pointless use of the word ‘So’ that irritating people being interviewed on TV and radio invariably use to preface their answers. All their answers! No matter what the question.

Interviewer: “As the Minister responsible for this terrible mess, can you explain how you intend to repair the damage your department has done to the British public. And would this not be the perfect opportunity for you to apologise to the nation for your incompetence and abject failure to do what you promised to do less than three weeks ago?”
Politician: (After the briefest of pauses) “So…the question you really should be asking me is….”
And that’s how they try to deflect the questions that really should be answered.

So…don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?

I wrote about this ‘phenomenon’ a few years ago and, being a man of considerable influence in various media circles – and certain London squares – the numbers of politicians, celebrities, sports people etc., who had, for a long time, got into the habit of responding to any question asked of them “So…” were gradually reduced.
But, like indigestion and “Love Island”, just when you think ‘So!’ has gone away…it comes back.

People use it all the time and I have two theories why.

(A) – they do so out of habit, not even realising they’re guilty of it.
(B) – it gives people a moment’s ‘thinking’ time to come back with a response or, in the case of politicians, another whopper great fib.
But, as those TV infomercials like to say “That’s not all!”

The expression ‘Going Forward’ has become one of the most annoyingly over-used expressions used in the media.

It’s not used to describe a person or a vehicle going forward to get somewhere. Allow me to quote its modish meaning…

Going Forward is a relatively new and apparently convenient way to indicate a progression in time from the present. As in…
Interviewer “And having achieved this, what are your plans…going forward?”
Or as we normal people might ask “What are your plans…for the future?”
Which is what ‘a progression in time from the present’ is!

I don’t know about you but over the past couple of days I’ve had some trouble warming up.  At this rate, I will be digging out the thermal underwear garments which have been hidden away up until now following my last winter holiday.

On Saturday evening, I couldn’t help but notice that the majority of the punters frequenting Wind Street in Swansea were wearing next to nothing.
Yes – bare legs and flimsy tops and certainly no fur coats.  And the women were just as bad!

Don’t get me wrong, extremely fashion-conscious, but zero practicality.
It’s now dawned on me that I’m at an age where comfort and practicality takes precedent over fashion. Boring to some, I know, but I’d rather be warm and happy than cold and miserable.

Please don’t say that I’m alone on this?

For the record, it must have been cold last weekend.  As I passed my local councillor, I observed he had his hands in his own pockets.  Ha Ha.

It really isn’t my fault that I’m getting grumpier as I get older.
Last week I went into a branch of my bank that I don’t normally visit – and if you think I’d have a go at my own branch on this page, forget it. I know which side of my overdraft is buttered.

While a queue built up, the one staff member who was serving was helping an elderly lady with her transaction which was taking some time.

This didn’t worry me because I know that one day, if I eat my greens, I’ll be an elderly man who’ll need help with my bank transactions.

But some people in the queue were muttering things like “I wish she’d hurry up!”, “How long is she going to be?” and “I’d swear that was Phil Evans stood behind us, if I didn’t know he uses a different branch!”

While we were all waiting, another staff member was standing around to welcome customers.

As this function could easily be performed by a sign saying “Welcome Customers” that person could have been of more use to her employers and customers by serving behind the counter.

Occasionally, two more staff members would walk in and out of various doors with determined looks on their faces that revealed they were determined not to get behind a counter and help get the queue moving.
And all the while – for mysterious reasons that the world’s greatest minds will, in years to come, endeavour to debate – intrusive, whiny pop songs were being played over a speaker system, which did nothing for my well-being.

When I was eventually served, I asked the very helpful staff member if she found the music annoying. With brutal frankness she confessed “Yes, it does my head in!”

So, if pop music annoys  bank staff and customers who are there to pay in, take out…but not shake it all about… why do banks insist on thrusting this unwanted cacophony on our ear holes?

No wonder so many banks are closing. They can’t afford to pay the song writers and performers for playing their music all flipping day!

While writing this week’s column, I felt a strong urge to mention Remembrance Sunday, an event that has meaning for so many and is held in the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth as a day to commemorate the contribution of British and Commonwealth military and civilian servicemen and women in the two World Wars and other conflicts.

I have only recently discovered the significance of the poppy, which to my surprise was inspired by the World War One poem ‘In Flanders Fields’.
I read that the opening lines refer to the many poppies that were the first flowers to grow in the churned-up earth of soldiers’ graves in Flanders, a region of Europe that overlies a part of Belgium.  This is truly a day to remember and one we should never forget.

So many have contributed and paid the ultimate price so that we have choice and freedom of speech, enabling me to share my views openly (subject to the Editor’s approval, of course!).