While other newspapers explore such trivia as 'Is a woman ever too old for jeans?' we get at the real stuff, 'Does God exist?'. The answer to the jeans conundrum by the way lies not in the age of the jean wearer but in the size of the derriere. I think wildlife can guide our thinking on the God stuff. Thanks to The Wonder Of Sky Television, I am, in a sense, a much-travelled man. Last night I travelled from the African desert, through Hitler, a brief stop over involving some men and motors, watched the boxing at St James's Park, before finishing the evening in Seattle with a doctor. How about that? Is Sky television proof that God exists - or is it a tool of the Devil? Whatever it is, and look at me while I'm talking to you - it certainly is a powerful tool. Hello sailor. Watching wildlife programmes I'm struck by the natural, brutal order to it all. It is quite literally, a jungle out there. But is the Circle of Life and That evidence of divine intervention, or is it just monkeys messing about? When I die I don't want to come back as a Caribou. These poor creatures spend their lives wandering thousands of miles in search of food. The food menu having only one element as well - grass. All their life they only eat grass. It's like council houses and fish and chips, some might say. The Caribou is essentially a Meals On Wheels service - as its journey takes it to and from enormous wolves. Who don't eat grass. Unless it's wrapped in Caribou. The Caribou has a desperately harsh life - every day a struggle for survival. Every day the threat of attack from a savage beast. I think it's a lot like being a married man. I think that's what God is saying about the Caribou. A never-ending battle. The married man under constant siege - and lacking the intelligence to do anything about it. If I were the Caribou I'd go somewhere else. Somewhere Wolf Lite. The wolf typifies the married woman. Standing, observing, and then launching an attack. At the lower end of the scale, a sarcastic observation, a withering remark, rising through the scale to hiding season tickets and/or Chinese burns. Sometimes however it's clear that the narrator is just making things up. The cameraman takes hours of videos of fighting and filth, and then, over a few beers they decide what yarn to spin to us. Recently, the Voice Over Man was telling the viewers that dolphins `live in a very complex social structure'. How the hell does he know? As he was saying this, the camera panned across a dolphin, which was swimming really fast. It didn't illuminate the point. It seemed to illustrate, rather than the complexity of it all, more The Life Of Riley. Later on said dolphin was being attacked by a shark - which, although unpleasant, wasn't complicated. The dolphin knew it's position vis a vis the shark. He wanted to get as much space between the two of them as possible. The shark was looking for a gruesome fusion type arrangement. Last night the programme featured lions. And this is where I can clearly see the Hand Of God at play. There is a clear structure, and order to lions, which we share. Is this an accident? - I think not. The females hunt together. Women shop together. The women look after the children, without any support at all. Think about it. It's uncanny, is it not? The male, by comparison, is bone idle - simply turning up to eat what the female has killed and then sleeping up to twenty hours a day. I can see similarities here. Women shop, we turn up at the table to gorge on said spoils, and then get horizontal. And we get criticised for it. Which is all wrong, as it's clearly a genetic thing. It's how God wants things. To criticise a man having a kip on the settee of a Sunday afternoon, is to mock God. How does that sound? Any God thoughts? ********** Watch out - I've got the power Continuing the What Men Want theme - yet again I'm indebted to Paul Dixon, Lord Of Stakeford, for his thoughts. Ahhhhhhh that special time of year has arrived. In households all over the region `that' magazine will drop through the letterbox with a satisfying thud to send a thrill down the arms of men everywhere. Full of vibrant, gleaming, growling, curvaceous, alluring, marriage wrecking things that are begging to be used. Twenty-five years ago it was the pneumatic Samantha Fox and Jilly Johnson, today it is the pneumatic drill in the DIY catalogue and page after page of MEN'S toys!! Toys that will drill, hammer, crush, shred, blow, snarl like REAL toys. All over the region, women are checking the household insurance policies while men snort derisively at instruction leaflets and engage in garden mayhem! This spring the residents of Stakeford (or Outer Jesmond as I've been asked to call it by the residents association) don't realise the forces that are about to released on them in a matter of days. In a rare moment of weakness, Executive Management has bought me a new electric Power Saw and a 7lb sledgehammer. I was so excited that I forgot to jokingly ask if she was making dumplings again. I have a tree to cut down in the back garden, and also a base to prepare for our new `summerhouse'. Our unsuspecting neighbours have already been alerted so that the men can watch in the kindred male brotherhood spirit as I blitz my way round the Eastern pastures of Chez Dixon. Fortunately I don't have the type of neighbour who will stroll over during a break in the mayhem and remark knowledgeably: "Ah, I see you're using the Feelytuchi 850 with extra grigglewipple for reverse torque. I'm a traditional Corblimey Z600 man myself because I still believe British is best, although I have to send away to Madagascar if I want parts. I realise that my efforts will set the bench mark for the coming season as male neighbours will be scrutinising my performance, while their wives will be wondering how a 42in belly can get into a 38in pair of jeans and `What was his wife thinking about - allowing him to wear a Brown T-shirt with Blue jeans-p-u-lease'. THIS is what Men want. Let the games begin. Thanks Paul. Your thoughts welcome. | 
