AS part of my fitness regime, I bought myself a Sony Walkman and fell in love. The intention was to listen to audio books or records through earphones to help me on my way. The Happy Wanderer is not on my play list. Love happened by accident.
The Walkman came with instructions in 22 languages. Everything from Slovakian to Greek but they didn't help. Probably because I'm not the sort of person to read instructions. I just get stuck in.
Not surprisingly, I couldn't get it to record anything.
“Why don't you ask Ian,” my wife Maria said. “He's a scientist so he's bound to know.”
“Yes, but he's a Leeds United supporter. I'll end up with the Elland Road song book on the thing – We Are Leeds and the Ballad of Billy Bremner.” I'd rather let my arteries fur up.
I'm taking getting fit seriously. Not like my chum Ian.
“I sent for a rowing machine once but it arrived without oars. I sat and drifted for an hour every morning. I joined a fitness club and lost 43 pounds the first day. That was the joining fee. Then I tried the whisky diet: I lost three weeks. Finally I decided a simple fitness regime was best: up two three, down two three. Then the other eyelid.”
And yes, he's a Tommy Cooper fan.
He added a note of encouragement.
“My grandfather started walking five miles a day when he was 60. He's 93 now and we haven't clue where he is.”
I finally worked out how to work the Walkman and downloaded a talking book from Librivox. This is a website where all the books are free because they are ancient and out of copyright. And that's when I fell in love - with the voice of the reader of a very boring Victorian melodrama.
Many of the volunteer readers lack something. After all, they are not professionals. I almost gave up of finding a voice compatible to the subject matter after listening, on one site, to the opening lines of a classic set in Roman Britain read by a New York cab driver.
And then I discovered Cori Samuel. I know nothing about the lady but her voice is wonderful, her intonation perfect and her interpretation flawless.
So if anyone encounters me out walking and thinks I am a tad engrossed, it is because I am communing with Cori.
For goodness sake, don't tell the wife.

The Egyptians invented beer 5,000 years ago but it took the English to invent the pub.

Ancient Britons were drinking ale when the Romans came, saw and conquered. They were still drinking it when the Romans left; full of cold and fed up of the weather.

Beer has been the national drink ever since and has had the patronage of royalty and thieves. Prince Hal enjoyed going round to the pub with Falstaff, until he moved up two books and became Henry V, and Dick Turpin rode 200 miles non stop from London to York for a pint in his local and a rock solid alibi.

For my money, the pub ( and it's taken plenty of my money) is as important to our heritage as the parish church, for it is peculiarly English and does not travel well. Licensed premises around the world can be entertaining but don't compare with the civilised ambience of hostelries whose very names reflect history.

The royal splendour of Victoria and Albert, the textile connections of The Slubbers Arms, obvious connotations of The Woodman, Shepherd's Rest, Lord Nelson and Little John. The Chartist comes from the 19th century political movement that demanded rights for workers and took the nation to the brink of revolution. The Waterloo remembers the triumph over Napoleon and The Alma was a long ago battle of the Crimean War.

The most popular pub name in England is The Red Lion: there are more than 600. This was introduced when James VI of Scotland also took the English throne as James I in 1603. He ordered all public buildings, including taverns, to display a heraldic red lion.

Next year the Scots will be voting for independence and even if they opt out of the union, they will leave England with a lasting memory of a Scottish king.

THE new novel I am writing is called The Pilgrim. It's a time travelling sci fi thriller with a twist. The ideas were flowing. I was 70,000 words to the good when I came to a brick wall. The next phase didn't work.
I don't believe in writer's block. I think it's writer's idleness. You keep writing and eventually it comes right. But not this time. I kept writing and three times I ended up in a different cul-de-sac.
Time for drastic action.
I gave up and walked away and let the dust settle.
I read a couple of books, did some other work and blanked the problem from my mind. I have a mind that likes blank as much as I like a pint of bitter. So I had a few pints as well.
Normally, I plot the next chapter in my head when I go to bed. Sometimes I jot down a few words on a pad in the dark as an aide memoir. Sometimes the aide memoir looks like a doctor's prescription but the act of writing something down fixes it in the mind anyway.
But for the next few nights, I avoided the book. I thought of something else when I went to bed: I replayed an imagined Lottery win in all its glory – which is about as close as I'll come to a real Lottery win.
Then five days later, I went to bed and the plot came knocking. It must have got bored being left in limbo. And it had the answer. It was drastic but it was the right answer.
I had to go back to the point where I had made a wrong plot assumption and chop everything from there. Ten thousand words were ditched, which is a sizeable chunk of anybody's imagination.
No writer likes giving up hard written words: they represent blood, sweat and tears. But that 10,000 had to go. And do you know? It's flowing again with not a cul-de-sac in sight.
Only another 30,000 to produce and I can get depressed about the re-write.

SINCE I have gone on a healthy diet I have tried all sorts of new concoctions, including Vegemite. This is, apparently, a staple food of Australians everywhere, along with cold tinnies and anything from a barbecue.
It was invented 90 years ago and is made from leftover brewers' yeast extract. Or, as one wit put it, it's beer in paste form. It's very healthy. And by gum, I thought, when I first tasted it. It's not just got a kick, it has a taste that stays with you for hours.
When it was first marketed in 1923 it didn't do too well because Australians already had Marmite from England. This led to its name being changed to Parwill with an advertising strategy of: “If Marmite … then Parwill.”
A bit too subtle for Aussies.
But Vegemite eventually did become market leader in Oz and today 22 million jars are sold every year.
I already love Marmite, the spread with the endearing slogan: “Love it or hate it.” But I did wonder why that Vegemite taste stayed with me all day after having it on toast for breakfast.
Was it a special ingredient designed to linger?
Not really, I discovered.
It was because it had stuck to the bristles on my upper lip.
Which is why I would advise anyone with a moustache to have a full facial wash after every serving. Especially if you plan on kissing a lady.
Unless, that is, you really do want the taste to linger all day and don't mind sharing it.