Let Me Be Your Easter Egg 

easter egg

(a poem dedicated to John Cooper Clarke)

Let me be your Easter egg
Your post-Lent cocoa-powder-keg
Wrap me, tap me, roll me, chase me
Use your paintbrush to deface me
Let me be your Easter gift
Your springtime Chocoholic lift
Hide me in a secret place
Or lay me in a cardboard case
Let me be your Easter thrill
A giant chocolate-coated pill
Boil me, foil me, colour-dye me
Decorate and string thread tie me
From willow branch to reign supreme
A resurrected pagan theme
Seal me, peel me, jewel inlay me
Decoupage and Fabergé me
Make me wholly chocolate cream
I wanna be your Easter dream…
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Running Old, Running Scared

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Dear Readers

Rarely does any disturbing news reach my sensitive self at Happy Meadows lock-up, but when unpleasant reports do, at long last, breach the walls of this rehab’s inner sanctum, one would have to be lying prostrate and snoring over a 12-Step Guide, not to be distressed.

So what kind of disclosure, dear readers, could possibly cause me to reel in horror during my afternoon pedicure session, resulting in an annoying smudge?

It is the news that more and more seniors are being forced to RUN in sporting events. 

injured runner

No matter that these runs are of varying lengths, from so-called ‘fun-runs’ of 5 kilometers, to full marathons of 42.195 torturous kilometers.

These sports activities are profoundly INHUMANE at any time of life, let alone in one’s twilight years. But yet, many elderly people are being cajoled into participating in major events, and nowadays, even have their own category, such as the 90-plus age bracket, in order to make the run appear  ‘fairer’.

Dear readers, nothing is fair about encouraging a gaunt granny and granddad to disconnect from their portable oxygen tanks, and stagger breathlessly around the neighborhood.


The audacity of sporty types! Indeed, one need not be a rocket scientist to understand the games played by sports companies, sports organizers and the media. Yes, one is easily duped, especially if one sadly (and mistakenly) calls puffing and panting around the block a ‘training session’ and the fastest time it takes one to reach heart attack level, a ‘personal best’.


WARNING: Do be on your guard if the offspring are urging you to compete in runs of any length, under the guise of the sport being “good for your health”. It isn’t. Rather, it is good for their wealth, especially if you happen to drop dead from exhaustion along the route.

Yes, many a FUN-run has ended in a FUN-eral….


To follow, then, is my advice for counteracting such dangerous sporting events in old age (or in any age):

a) avoid any activities that contain the words ‘miles’ or ‘kilometers’.

b) avoid any activities that contain the word ‘fun’.

c) avoid any activities that contain the word ‘sports


On the other hand, when it comes to rigorous training sessions at our local pub, Helmut’s personal best for the 20-meter dash to the Gents, is set at just under 5.2 seconds. Funnily enough, his PB for running back to the bar, is set at an even faster 4.3 seconds

pub 2










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Exercises For The Elderly: What Fresh Hell Is This?

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Dear Readers,

Sadly, it has come to my attention that ‘exercise for the elderly’ has become the latest health fad to hit the headlines. According to so-called scientific studies, the more one exercises in one’s twilight years, the longer one’s faculties remain intact. But has this grotesque observation ever been solidly proven?

old exercise

Personally, I am against doing anything more strenuous than forging a cheque, an activity that has been shown irrefutably to improve one’s handwriting skills AND one’s bank balance, well into old age. Husband Helmut is in absolute agreement (or is it that he finds Absolut agreeable?).


One of my biggest peeves, is constantly having to hear that exercise is a panacea for all of life’s woes. It isn’t. Exercise in all its forms, is DULL to the extreme, and a waste of precious drinking time. Apart from the physical act of doing it, talking about exercise is even duller – if that’s possible.

Yes, there is an entire industry devoted to this piteous pursuit, including hours of aimless conversation extoling its benefits. In addition, sporty types and ‘health gurus’ regularly subject innocent, stationary seniors to obscenely boring monologues regarding upcoming sporting events, sports injuries and garish sports apparel and accessories.


Alas, not content with performing Pilates at home and in one’s nighties, the athletically-afflicted among us possess an overwhelming desire to be seen in public wearing ‘the gear’ i.e. ‘treds’ meaning running shoes, and ‘sweats’ meaning expensive brand-name pants and T-shirts. As well as ridiculous neon clothes that smell in no time, the latest must-have while exercising is a wristwatch or smart phone app that monitors one’s heart-rate and calorie count. Dear readers, there is only one set of figures that warrants careful monitoring: ALCOHOL CONTENT


When it comes to staying fit, one has to ask: what could be more bothersome for us Old Relics than a once-a-day lower body workout? One such workout, known euphemistically as pelvic floor exercises’, is supposedly a most effective  treatment when it comes to improving one’s bladder control. But where’s the proof, dear readers? Are Port-a-Potties and ‘Products for the Elderly’ on their way out? Is mopping up after one of Helmut’s little accidents, a lesser kind of floor exercise? Nowhere. No. And Definitely No.


Are Port-a-Potties on the way out?

Are Port-a-Potties on their way out?

As for weight-bearing exercises, or ‘weight-BORING exercises’  as Helmut prefers to call them, should we Golden Oldies ever feel bullied into bearing more than our fair share (by sadistic offspring, for example), then may I suggest we increase the number of hip-flasks we carry to two or more, rather than our usual ONE? Naturally, keeping our flasks filled with Bombay at all times. When it comes to exercising with weights, Helmut’s personal motto: “just gin and bear it” is more than suitably appropriate!


Dear readers, in my opinion this simple monitoring, plus a zombie-like shuffle to and from the pub, should be more than sufficient to keep one alert and in tip-top shape. On a more personal note, I find hauling a stupefied Helmut OFF THE FLOOR every night, and dragging that dear man, inch by inch, up those rickety stairs to bed, to be a most gratifying form of exercise. One just has to pay attention he’s not been lying on any sort of pelvic floor…

Cheerio. Bottoms Up & Happy Exercising!




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