I’m having a heavy existential internal dialogue at the moment as I prepare for my big cycle ride next April and assuming goodwill is part of the problem.

A tale about the daft English tradition of Cheese Rolling and a Wilford Brimley lookey-likey that gave me envy, admiration and dreams of a pool in Florida.

I turned 52 yesterday. I like an even number in my age, it sounds nicer. Besides, I’m currently beating my dad’s life record by two

My name is Craig, and I am a queue dick. It’s been five days since my last queue dick episode.

It’s happened. I’ve gone from kidding myself that I am still relatively young to being that middle-aged bloke who is somewhat of a buffoon.

I want to be friendly; I really do. But some people seem to want to unload as if I am the first person they have spoken to in months.

The car of the future is not the Tesla, but it is electric. The noble mobility scooter – fun for all the family.

One of the shit things about turning 40 is that you start falling apart. But, here I am at fifty wishing my hearing would hurry up and deteriorate.

Between you and me, I’m not a massive fan of traditional education. I’ve met too many idiots with degrees in my life who can’t seem to apply what they’ve learned in the real world.

It’s not the drinking I can’t handle anymore, it’s the dancing, especially when I start believing I can breakdance.