Driven To Eggstremes

The Christmas message is one of goodwill to all. Easter, on the other hand, is more about wet camping and chocolate-induced psychosis. In fact, Easter is a lot like daylight savings; each year it stretches out further and further. It is a period of time much like the cosmic elastic in the great interstellar underpants of the Universe that forever threatens to take over the entire twelve months. Before the Yuletide tinsel has been packed back in its cardboard box, buns and eggs start appearing. For many, it’s a time to cherish. For me, it’s a painful reminder that I am wholly and utterly without the slightest skerrick of self-control. Or, at least, I am wholly without self-control when compared with my brother. But there’s an upside, though.
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The Secret Diary of a Former Foreign Minister Aged 65 ¾

Dignity – once lost it can never be regained. It used to be that retirement was a gentle process in which you quietly accepted the rewards of a lifetime’s work. Sometimes, however, retirement sees the shackles of civility finally loosed and the inner feral that has for decades lain dormant given permission to go absolutely berserk. A gentle walk into the sunset is not for all. Some prefer to leave whilst kicking the windows in and setting fire to the curtains. I don’t for a moment suggest that everyone treats retirement as an invitation to vandalism. But when a former politician decides to abandon the restraints of public life and exact revenge on everything from former co-workers to airline food, the results are bound to be less than dignified.
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To Sir, With Love

Finally! Knighthoods are back and I, for one, am beside myself with excitement. I almost have to pinch myself – an act that being beside myself makes a whole lot simpler. Clearly, someone has been getting my letters, emails and scrolls sent by carrier pigeon. For too long, this country has been without the crowning glories that are ‘Sir’ or ‘Dame’; ever since Prime Minister Bob Hawke abolished the honours in 1986 in favour of the title, ‘Maaaate’. It’s time to set the record straight. Or, to put it more accurately: it’s time to set the record straight.
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