I assume you’re familiar with the expression “I don’t need telling twice!” (or “He/She doesn’t need telling twice!”)?
However, TV programme makers are apparently unfamiliar with it, because so many shows address the viewers in a manner that suggests we DO need telling twice.
Take “Dragons Den”, which seems to have been on our screens since before the very first DFS sale.
Some of the ‘dragons’ may have changed over the years, but host Evan Davis has been there since the beginning.
Forgive me if you’re a fan of his or a relative, but the question must be asked: WHAT IS the point of him being on the programme?
We watch the budding entrepreneurs give their presentation, then the dragons interrogate them.
Finally, we learn if the entrepreneurs have convinced the dragons to go into business with them . . . or if they go away empty-handed.
Then, out pops Evan Davis to needlessly remind us what we’ve just watched for the last 10 minutes! Why?
There’s an interesting series on Sky Arts called “Classic Movies”, which each week dissects, as you might expect, a classic film like “The Third Man” and “Brief Encounter”.
I used to enjoy it – but now it’s unwatchable.
In the one about “The Ipcress File”, the show’s host mentioned to a fellow film critic that Michael Caine’s character was the working-class opposite of sophisticated James Bond.
Then a female American critic told us exactly the same thing.
The host informed us the central character in the original book wasn’t named, so Caine suggested ‘Harry Palmer’ after an old school friend.
A few minutes later, the story was repeated by the American critic . . . and so it went on.
After being told the same stories twice for 30 minutes, to avoid a repetitive brain injury I changed channels.
It’s a shame because earlier episodes presumed viewers could absorb information after hearing it once.
As for my opinion on shows that announce, “Coming up after the break!”, then preview what they’re going to show us three minutes later, this not being television, I’m unable to repeat it!

Well, my readers, it seems the postal service has decided to take us on a wild ride down the slippery slope of stamp inflation.
First-class and second-class stamps have skyrocketed to prices that make gold look like a bargain.
At this rate, sending a letter might soon require a second mortgage.
Who knew that a simple “Happy Birthday” card would come with a side of financial planning?
And just when you thought it couldn’t get any wackier, the postal service has thrown in a Saturday surprise: first-class mail will now take a leisurely weekend break.
That’s right. If you’re hoping for a Saturday delivery of your heartfelt letter, you might as well send it via carrier pigeon. At least they don’t charge extra for a weekend flight.
Now, I don’t know about you, but there’s something undeniably magical about receiving a personal letter or card.
It’s like finding a unicorn in your mailbox, rare, delightful, and definitely not a bill.
Bills can take a hike; they can stick them where the sun doesn’t shine, as far as I’m concerned.
So, what do you think about this postal predicament?
Are we destined to become a society of email enthusiasts, or will we rise up and demand our right to send a good old-fashioned letter without breaking the bank?
Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to pay for postage to share your thoughts, just shoot me an email.

This year’s prestigious Mark Twain Prize For American Humour was won by Conan O’Brien.
If you’re unfamiliar with the American talk show host, that he won the award after a massive career misstep is astonishing.
British television is littered with failed attempts at creating a five nights a week, late night talk format which has been popular in America since the 1950s, always hosted by comedians.
“Parkinson” was on Saturday nights and “Wogan” three early evenings a week, but they weren’t comedians.
Brilliant on radio, Wogan didn’t research his guests, so often struggled to maintain conversations.
His attempt to ‘out-wit’ comic genius Mel Brooks did Terry no favours.
Bradley Walsh hosted a short-lived, five-nights a week chat show for Channel 5, but even Brad, with his intuitive comedy ‘chops’ couldn’t attract a late night audience.
The long-running late night TV talk show is resolutely an American beast.
Probably the most well-known example is NBC’s ‘The Tonight Show’.
First hosted in the 1950s by Steve Allen, followed by Jack Paar, it was Johnny Carson who turned it into a cultural phenomenon during his time as host, from 1962 until 1992.
He gave many future star comedians (like Steve Martin and Jim Carrey) their first TV exposure.
If Johnny had been impressed by their stand-up spot, he’d call them over to sit on the couch next to his desk. If he didn’t, they were unlikely to be re-booked.
When Carson retired, Jay Leno took over until 2009, when Conan O’ Brien, who’d hosted ‘Late Night With Conan’ for 16 years on a rival network, replaced him..
But it didn’t work, he was ‘let go’ and Leno returned to ‘rescue’ the show the following year.
If Conan’s ego was bruised, he must have taken comfort in his $43 million pay-off
Conan retreated, worked hard creating new projects and in a remarkable turnaround, has now won the award everyone working in comedy in the US covets, The Mark Twain Prize.
If anyone wants to hire a talk show host for a year before firing them, I’m available, on the same financial terms as Conan’s . . .

By now, most of us have melted into the nearest patch of shade, silently praying for rain, yes, rain, in what may be the shortest heatwave Wales has seen since that sunny afternoon back in 1997.
And yet, despite the brief flirtation with actual summer, we’ve gone full British, complaining about the heat like it’s a personal insult.
In a country famed for drizzle,  damp socks,  and moaning about the weather,  you’d think we’d welcome a few rays of sunshine with open arms and an ice cream.
But, no, two days of 27°C, and suddenly it’s “too hot to sleep,” “the tarmac’s melting,” and “you could fry an egg on the bonnet of the car, and I did.”
Let’s not forget that only last week, we were staring out of rain splattered windows, muttering about how it’s “never like this in Spain.”
Fast forward to today, and we’re still moaning, but now about sweating in places we didn’t know existed.
Admit it, we just like to complain. If the weather isn’t giving us a topic, what else would we talk about at the bus stop?
Of course,  while we all dramatically fan ourselves with takeaway menus and discuss DIY air-con strategies (a cold flannel and a prayer), it’s worth remembering, this too shall pass.
By next Tuesday, the rain will return,  your flip-flops will go back in the cupboard, and we’ll be Googling “cheap flights to the Algarve” again.
Until then, stay safe, stay hydrated, and if all else fails, sit in a cold bath with a cuppa and let the great Welsh weather drama continue.
Ha ha. Typical, innit?

Question: With bank branches closing all over the UK and many of those that survive reducing their opening hours . . . why do we still have Bank Holidays?
I’m not sure banks deserve them.
I’ve previously mentioned the frustrating encounters that customers experience when visiting their bank.
The frustration starts the moment you walk through the door when you’re greeted by a bank staff member who has the attitude of a discount store shelf-filler, rather than someone who wants to carve out a career in banking all the way to the top.
They can’t be bothered to make the slightest effort to hide their irritability that you interrupted their conversation with a colleague about the latest ‘must watch’ Netflix series.
They give the impression that they want you to turn around and go back through the door as quickly as you walked in.
Then there’s the ‘whopper’ they’re instructed to tell you that no-one is serving behind the counter because “There is very little customer demand for it these days. Most people bank on-line. Don’t you?”
A friend recently had a query with his bank and popped into town for a face-to-face to sort it out.
He arrived at 1.40 pm only to find that it closed at 2pm every day, well, except Mondays when it was closed all day!
He was greeted by one of those robotic staff members who, according to my friend, seemed to have their eye on the clock, anxious to get rid of him well before ‘locking-up time’.
It only took him a couple of minutes to explain his problem, during which the staff member nodded, giving my friend hope that he could quickly be put together with a bank official in a side office who could solve his problem before the bank’s doors closed at 2pm.
When he’d finished his explanation, the staff member told him they no longer had ‘face to face’ meetings with customers “but if you call this number, I’m sure someone will be able to help you!”
Just 10 days later my friend changed banks.
I’ll ask you again. Why do we still have Bank Holidays?

Over the past month, I have personally witnessed no fewer than 22 instances of dog mess littering the pavements and pathways in and around Ammanford town, as well as the picturesque trails of Llyn Llech Owain Country Park in Gorslas.
What on earth are these pet owners thinking? It’s beyond frustrating, it’s downright infuriating.
Each and every one of us has a responsibility to keep our town and environment clean, yet it’s painfully evident that many dog owners refuse to play their part.
This isn’t just a minor inconvenience; it’s a public health issue and a blight on our beautiful community.
We pride ourselves on our lovely parks and walkways, but how can we enjoy them when they’re marred by the careless actions of a few?
If I had my way, it would be the law that irresponsible dog owners who refuse to pick up after their pets face serious consequences.
Confiscating their dogs and imposing hefty fines would be a start, but let’s take it a step further – let’s name and shame these offenders in the local papers!
We are far too soft on this filthy and disrespectful behaviour, and it’s time to take a stand.
Imagine a community where we all take pride in our surroundings, where dog owners are held accountable for their pets’ actions.
It’s not just about picking up after your dog; it’s about respect, for your neighbours,  for our environment, and for the community we all share.
Let’s put an end to this nonsense and ensure that our towns remain clean, welcoming places for everyone.
It’s time for responsible pet ownership to become the norm, not the exception!

Your reaction to this week’s topic depends on whether, like atheists and agnostics, we’re singing from the same hymn sheet.
Otherwise, my words will either annoy you or have no impact whatsoever. I’m not sure which reaction would be most disappointing after I’ve spent half a day setting my thoughts down in a coherent manner. Well, as near as I can.
There are some things in life that there can be no justification for.
The news is full of the worst examples every day, so I don’t need to paint you a picture.
But, as I may have said before, I could knock up a landscape for any readers willing to part with a vast amount of money – preferably in cash.
Well, it avoids troubling those overworked staff in my local bank who are programmed to answer every question they’re asked with, “Have you tried banking online?”.
Anti-social behaviour is something most of us have experienced in one of its many forms.
Some of the worst offenders are selfish people who listen to music on their phone on public transport without using earbuds or head-phones, so everyone else has to suffer.
There is absolutely no excuse for it.
And yet! On a recent TV discussion about this subject, some plonker actually said it didn’t worry them and people should be ‘free’ to listen to their favourite music on trains and buses.
I was staggered by their idiotic, badly thought-out comment. They were virtually saying it was okay for 30 individuals in a railway carriage to play music on their phones without earbuds!
Imagine the cacophony and how hellish that journey would be for everyone else? That this fool thought there was nothing wrong with annoying fellow passengers was very worrying.
I’ve always thought the “I can listen to whatever I want on my phone” brigade should be clapped in irons, placed in a rusty longboat and sent out to sea where they can listen to their music to their heart’s content.
And now I know who should man the tiller – the dimwit from that TV show!

They do say travel broadens the mind and let me tell you, it’s not just a catchy phrase; it’s a life-changing experience.
For those fortunate enough to roam the globe, the benefits are endless.
Travel can transform your perspective, enhance your life and provide a much-needed escape from the daily grind.
For me, travel is a delightful getaway from the pressures of work and the relentless demands of our fast-paced world.
I do consider myself lucky to have work-related activities that whisk me away to new destinations.
Each trip offers a chance to think, reflect and clear my head, like a mini-holiday for my brain! It’s during these moments that I find my creativity truly flourishes.
Why, you ask? Well, it’s simple. I get to observe people and cultures in their natural habitats. Whether it’s watching a street performer in Edinburgh or witnessing a local market in action, these experiences provide me with a treasure trove of inspiration for my writing and comedy.
Yes, that’s right. While you’re living your life, I’m watching you! Don’t worry; I promise to keep the embarrassing moments to myself . . . mostly!
Now, let’s address the elephant in the room: camping.
I’m not a fan. Let’s face it, life can be hard enough without sleeping on the ground and battling insects! I prefer my adventures with a side of comfort, thank you very much.
So, if you have the chance to travel, seize it!
Embrace the opportunity to explore, learn, and laugh.
After all, the world is a big, beautiful place and there’s no better way to expand your mind than by stepping outside your comfort zone. Happy travels!

Last year I wrote about the popularity of ‘Nudist’ films of the late ’50s and early ’60s which featured men and women (only ever naked from the waist up) playing tennis and frying sausages on open barbecues.
I might have made up that last bit.
The ‘posh’ Odeon and ABC cinemas avoided them, but independent cinemas, which most towns had back then, made a lot of money from titles like “Nudes Of The World”, which were often given ‘U’ certificates, because nothing ‘naughty’ happened in them . . . and they were yawn-inducingly boring, according to contemporary reviews.
Bringing you up to date, the wonderful Talking Pictures TV Channel broadcast the British television premiere of ‘The Nudist Story’ (1960), starring Brian Cobby, who later achieved fame as the voice of the speaking clock!
Curious, not having seen any of these films, I watched a five-minute scene featuring two semi-naked couples (the men wore shorts) talking around a patio table. That was enough excitement for one day.
I mentioned this film to a friend who’d been in junior school when ‘Nudist’ films first appeared and although he’d found the cinema posters ‘interesting’, he never thought he’d ever see one.
In 1962, he missed Michael Winner’s ‘pop’ music film “Play It Cool”, starring Billy Fury, during its week-long run at his local ABC cinema, but a month later his mother told him it was showing at an independent cinema, where she was taking him that afternoon.
The warmth of the cinema and the poor quality of the ‘B’ picture sent his mother to sleep and when she woke up 20 minutes into the main feature, she was horrified to see her 13-year-old lad mesmerised by what was on the screen.
Three naked ladies running around a beach!
Grabbing her son’s hand, she stormed out and complained to the manager that his cinema wasn’t showing the advertised film, Michael Winner’s “Play It Cool!”
The manager calmly replied “No, madam. As the posters outside state, we are showing the nudist film “Some Like It Cool” also directed by Michael Winner!”
My friend never did see the rest of the film!

When I was a lad, our house was like a scene from a sitcom, always bursting at the seams with grown-ups.
Our small living room was a veritable circus of friends, neighbors, strange relatives and relative strangers.
You name it: the rent man, the Man From The Pru and even the bailiffs made appearances, all larger than life and overflowing with bonhomie.
Or, in the case of Aunty Glad, overflowing with Dubonnet!
I’d often find myself wedged under the dining table, no easy feat when you’re five feet tall at 12, eavesdropping on the fascinating conversations buzzing around me.
Politics, religion, nuclear war and the great scone debate (jam or cream first? It’s a serious matter!) were all fair game.
No topic was too controversial for my young ears.
Of course, with everyone talking over each other, I sometimes misheard things.
Like the time I thought a neighbour said, “Neither a borrower or a Brenda Lee.”
I was convinced she was criticising the ’60s pop star we only hear on the radio in December, belting out “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree”.
Then there was Uncle Hugo, who claimed to have explored many “previously unexplored regions” of the world, regions that were no longer unexplored because he’d gone and spoiled them.
I distinctly heard him say, “There are flies, damn flies and stick insects,” while recounting his adventures along the perilous upper reaches of the River Tawe.
In reality, he’d said, “There are lies, damn lies and statistics”.
Thinking of my late uncle (he’s not dead, just always late) reminds me that by 2050, the number of people aged over 60 will top two billion.
Can you imagine the queue at the Post Office on pension day?
And with so many old folks around, my chances of a full house at Bingo are looking grim!
Ah, the good old days! I wonder if Aunty Glad drank all the Dubonnet?