Jim Foster

This poor soul has been duped by people like McGarvey, Kate Grigg and Bill Keller, who are spreading the rumour around that to write a column one has to have a few brain cells.

The last I heard, she won the jackpot and ran off with a beer salesman. He’s stuck at home with six kids and he doesn’t even know their names yet.

Even our National Anthem doesn’t put the fear of the Lord into anybody.

But if I had one I would never know when to wear it. Would a jacket that gaudy go with everything or nothing at all?

There are several crackerjack lines I can suggest. The ever popular, “What’s a nice guy (or gal) like you doing in a place like this?” is an old favourite.

ShareA Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster At long last I am going to confirm something my readers have suspected for

Now bugger off before I shoot you. That’s right, I said shoot you. How dare you pound upon my door?

My body is a temple, actually it is rapidly approaching the size of a cathedral, and I try to treat it as such.

I wonder if Dorothy Hammerstein and Oscar’s home life mirrored the love-life of the couples in the musicals.

I was in a pile of musicals but for some reason (probably the fact I can’t sing worth a sore ass) starring roles were never offered to me.