50. That’s fifty. Five zero. FIFTY! Eish!

Aitch doesn’t mess around. Suddenly a big marquee was pitched on the front lawn. What’s that for? I ask. We’re having a party, says me wife. Oh. OK. So tip-toe’ing discreetly past my half century mark is not going to happen? Nope. So I help the guys lay down a dance floor; and I carryContinue reading “50. That’s fifty. Five zero. FIFTY! Eish!”