Just standing still, are you? Just daydreaming, staring off into the sunset with an expression that can only be described as glaikit? Just gazing blankly at that long white snakey thing gliding past and wondering if it’s a giant tube of toothpaste or an art installation? It’s not. It’s a tram. I know, I was startled, too.
Well, buck up those ideas this minute and start masticating a bit of fruit. We’re not bothered what it is. Pop a pear, attack an apple, crunch a cranberry (or don’t, they’re horrible) but get that fruit down your neck.
Every single second you spend not getting outside a bit of fruit and/or veg is wasted.
A nightmare of weakened heart, sky rocketing blood pressure, dizzy spells and, for all I know, a compulsive desire to watch anything including Simon Cowell and David Walliams awaits you if you fail to make that fruit and vegetable based target of ten items or more.
Apparently, we’re not downing enough fruit and veggies. The nation is reeling about like sailors with scurvy.
For those worried about such things, scurvy symptoms include receding gums, easily bruised skin, plotting to mutiny against the captain, seizing the small arms chest, sticking the loyal officers in an open boat and jeering at them as they are cast adrift in the ocean.
Admittedly those last manifestations are pre-18th century but, for all I know, they could re-emerge as hordes of office workers chuck the managers in to the car park with only limited supplies of Evian and the photocopier paper to eat later. You get the idea.
Five a day used to be the magic number, but just when you’d got that nailed – you did manage to eat that, yes? – up pops some new white clad smarty pants and says nope. It’s ten.
Couple of things to bear in mind, good people. They are referring to fruit and veggies, remember. Chips, they tell me, do not count. Even though they started life as potatoes, it’s a no. Neither, apparently do Skittles, even though they are fruit coloured.
Irn-Bru is also a complete no-no, which shows how little these folks know of a balanced diet.
I’M ON SHRED ALERT
Eating a wagonload of fruit and veg a day is tiring. Have you ever tried wandering about with a pineapple under yer oxter, just ready for that moment when the hunger pangs strike? It’s uncomfortable, let me tell you, and it shreds your Evening News.
A right royal error over breakfast
DOWN in sunny Newcastle last week, in a hotel calling itself The Royal Something – I think it became Royal during the reign of Edward the Confessor – the heating was certainly of an ancient vintage.
Breakfast was in a vast restaurant area with potted plants everywhere.
Now, this is not a criticism solely aimed at The Royal Something, but why do these places feel the need for music at breakfast?
I am not a morning person, we’ve discussed this, and we all agreed it’s much better to just leave me alone until the caffeine level in the bloodstream reaches the brain.
So why the desperate attempt to brighten up the day with 1980s disco hits and worse, something involving accordions?
It sounded like I was trying to quietly start the day with Jimmy Shand, pictured, lurking in the aspidistras. Just stop it, hotel people. Go find a copy of the brilliant film Local Hero. It’s got the best put down to hotel breakfast music I have ever witnessed. All hoteliers should be forced to watch it.
Listen Simon, immigration show would get my vote
DOES anyone have an address for that Simon Cowell bloke? I’ve got an idea for a telly programme.
Britain’s Got Asylum, where folks get to tell their tales to a celebrity panel which votes on whether or not they should stay.
Obviously, we get to vote, too. More people hit the phones to vote for a dancing dog on Britain’s Got Talent than voted in the general election. But then, they were voting for a cute doggie and not a politician, even though Nick Clegg did jump through hoops.
I think I could get Simon, below, on board for this – I know, that would be expensive, but it would still be a darned sight cheaper than the million quid it cost us to wave cheerio to spectacularly unpleasant Abu Hamza.
And I have a feeling that we, the ordinary folks of Scotland – and I bet the North of England – would have voted in droves to keep Yashika Bageerathi, who not only could tell us a terrible tale of her past – which is why she fled here – but could also tell us a great story about her future.
She’s a bright girl who could bring
a lot to the country that helped her.
Bet we’d hit the yes for Yashika. If only to annoy the Daily Mail readers.