I find myself scouring the skies lately with my powerful contact lenses.  I've begun behaving like an escaped jailbird with the law in pursuit.  Fleeing prisoners panic upwards.

Good health is all about illness.  We want to enjoy one and keep a wary eye on the other.  Sounds easy enough, doesn't it?  Does it? Where have you been living lately, in some sort of bubble? 

Am I the latest, or even the last person to discover the strong arm of Segurança Social? I started letting a private property on the Algarve in 2016. Registered with IVA, income tax, SEF and AL. There is no Segurança Social payable on either letting income or by individuals in receipt of state pensions.

Portugal is a delight to live in. Except for hunters. Why is the unarmed population at the mercy of a bunch of gun-toting individuals, often drunk in the early morning?

I gazed in horror at the birthday card on my breakfast tray.  As far as I knew, my wife wasn't dyslexic, and yet the card claimed I was 75. I bet they don't sell many of those.

Last year I wrote a book which I called The Roaring Twenties. It was about the present and the near future. I even thought of calling it The Greatest Decade because of all the discoveries that were being made, and I assumed that the year 2030 would be completely different from the year 2020.

The other day, I found myself muttering a version of Yossarian's line from Catch-22: "That's some Covid, that Covid-19."  It has certainly managed to lead the world a completely unmerry dance, the nasty little shape-shifter.  

Thanks to coronavirus  - and I mean no thanks to coronavirus - we look like finding ourselves succeeded by a new lost generation.  Succeeded was perhaps a poor choice of word under the circumstances.