I've just been minded to ask us all to consider the terrible plight that afflicts some of our brave souls out there. There are some men, in our region, who suffer more than the rest of us, day in, day out. Obviously they are married. Suffering being twinned with marriage. But these fine fellows plumb depths of despair. They are the only male in the house. Their children are all Trainee Women. I know it's shocking, but it's true. They're out there - they just can't get the publicity. I want a television documentary commissioning on them, The Lost And The Lonely perhaps, or Frightened And Alone. In these houses, the toilet seat is always down - how inconvenient is that? A colleague of mine falls into this group. He doesn't feel as though he can relax at any stage. He speaks in whispers. He thinks `They' might be listening at any stage. He suspects he might be bugged. He'll only talk openly in the toilet. I think he's being honest with me here, but I make sure I've always got my back to the toilet door. He fell into marriage in the 1980s - he's battle hardened in that respect. But nothing equipped him for what was to follow. He trembles when he speaks of his Flock Of Vultures. He calls them, in a desperately chilling fashion `The Girls.' He includes his own guard in that description, by the way. The Girls. It evokes images of The Birds to me. Him trapped in a phone box, his wife and children dragging him out, and then savagely pecking his eyes out. Perhaps it's my fertile imagination, allied to my pulsing, driving urges; I'll leave you to be the judge. My Colleague's very concerned about his own security in this situation, so I'll call him Soldier A. I don't want to over dramatise Soldier A's plight, but I'll impart two facts that will shock, and stun. Firstly, he's not allowed Sky television. I know, I know. He's not allowed. He's been told it's out of the question. He's in such a state that he accepted this without question. Can you imagine such a thing? Now many of you will choose not to have Sky installed - the obvious reason being you hate your wife so much, you're absolutely determined to have as many reasons to go to the pub as possible. Cement Woman dislikes me so much, she insisted we have Sky - so that I'm effectively housebound. But to be not allowed. Children are not allowed. Adults are allowed. Surely? He has the demeanour, the physical robustness and the mental health of a prisoner in Tenko. He simply doesn't question authority. And authority sits with `The Girls.' Secondly, and I don't know if it can get any worse than this, The Girls have insisted Soldier A go vegetarian. As he told me this, my jaw dropped. The poor soul. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but bearing in mind we were in the toilet I resisted. He explained that "There's four of them, and only one of me, what can I do?" I offered to go with him to try and sort it all out, but he told me it would do no good. They'd get him back as soon as I'd left. In the short term we've agreed an all-meat menu during his working week, allied to me telling him what was on Sky the night before. As a selfless act of giving, I'm watching more Sky than ever before, just to help a British soldier. This is only a short-term measure, however, rather than a long-term solution. Soldier A tells me that the worst is yet to come - his family holiday. I'm going to keep close on this one. Wish me luck. Any Sole Males out there who'd like to unburden their tales of woe? *********** Flying the flag not too clever An apology. Last week I mocked those who adorn their vehicles with flags. I may have referred to them as pigs and monkeys. It has come to my attention that I may have been misjudged in my views - a trifle harsh. It is actually all part of a carefully managed scheme. Being a leading political figure, I tend to find out what's what, and indeed, who's who. I am reliably informed that the Government has written to every citizen who has a lower than average IQ, and requested that they adorn their vehicles with the Saint George flag. Apparently the Government has all this sort of information. It has all our school records, work appraisals, entries to competitions, and shopping habits. Tattoo studios automatically download their client base onto the Government register. These people are then sent letters about flags. The flags are there to publicly denote that the vehicle is under the influence of a dunce, and that other drivers are to beware. One flag denotes an individual that would be unable to walk and chew gum at the same time. Separate letters were then sent to the dimmest of the dim. These are the folk who ring up football phone-ins. The real buffoons. They have been asked to put up more than one flag - the more flags on show the dimmer the driver. I wish the scheme well. Looking at the Flag Drivers closely, I can verify that the letters do seem to have reached the right people. ********** And so we're feasting ourselves on television pundits explaining the sport to us. Ian Wright tells us what he finks. And listening to him he `finks, y'know, man, I mean' a lot. Ian will be a flag driver methinks. He brilliantly rotates 13 words, and presents it as an expert summary. And then we have Wimbledon. Where the commentators actually do have an air of intelligence about them. It's like dropping in on a Home Counties picnic. I like Andrew Castle best. I think he's well placed to critique the events unfolding - to point out errors and indicate how the top players could improve. For any youngsters out there, Andrew Castle was one of the finest tennis players to grace a court. His achievements were legion; his honours manifest. Perry, Laver, Borg, McEnroe and Castle. Names that trip off the tongue. I fink. | 
