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My Jameson grandmother would never say “home James and don’t spare the horses” when I was at the wheel.

You may have noticed I’m becoming mildly obsessed with my investments as a bit of light relief from reading and doing crosswords. This breaks one of my rules: don’t look.

The Tier system in the UK is the best option in this crisis.

My sister briefly worked for Shirley Abicair, Zither Time. I found myself at lunch on Sunday boasting I’d been on holiday with Ringo Starr’s secretary in Croatia.

Inappropriate crying is something I do. I never squeeze out a drop at funerals and seldom at operas.

Published in 1942 by BT Batsford Ltd, The Last of Uptake does not take the knee to wartime economies.

Many years ago I was dining with friends when the doorbell went. Who could it be so late?

Three or four mornings a week I drive out on the M4 to Cranford Park with Bertie. The park is sandwiched between the motorway and the north runway at Heathrow.

There was no post yesterday because I was busy doing a time-consuming chore; tidying the cellar.

I’m glad I still keep a hard copy of financial transactions that may eventually have tax implications. They are stored in this wonderfully retro ring-binder rescued by me as my grandfather was about to throw it on a bonfire. Now look inside.