One thing that I used to regret was not having had a university education; that is until later in life when I encountered a number of ‘academic morons’ in the course of my work, and many very bright people with qualifications which were completely useless to them when it came to earning a living.

When I finished my formal education in 1955 at the age of sixteen, very few working class young people went on to university, unlike today when political priorities mean big increases in the numbers of students in higher education, and ‘dumbing down’ of standards means that it is almost impossible to fail the qualifying examinations.

OK, so I never got to punt on the Camb or ride a bike through the streets of Oxford with my books in a basket on the front, and I’ll never know what it would have been like to be an archaeologist or an architect, and anyway if I had managed to make it to some ‘red brick’ college I’d have probably ended up shaking test tubes in a laboratory or shuffling papers in some government department for a living; unlike today’s students who can study at ‘uni’ (as they insist on calling it) so called ‘non-courses’ which, we are told, will prepare them for employment after leaving ‘the halls of academia’.

Here are just a few of the 401 courses which have been identified at British universities and have been described as being ‘light weight’ and of little or no academic merit.  

• Golf management.

• Baking technology.

• Equestrian psychology.

• Science fiction and culture

• Aromatherapy

• Specialist make-up design

• Martial arts and adventure tourism.

• Outdoor adventure and philosophy.

• Fashion buying.

I suspect that at the end of such ‘Mickey Mouse’ courses (which cost the tax payer £40 million pounds a year)  graduates pick up their diplomas in a hallway from a box marked … ‘1st class degrees.  Please take one’.

At the start of the TV show ‘University Challenge’ the contestants state their names and disciplines such as   … “Dick Knowitall, reading history” or “Daisy Cleverglogs, reading physics” .. at the end of which I have been known to chip in with a not very funny … “and Big John reading comics”…

…   Perhaps I can become a ‘mature student’ ?

Now it’s not often that I agree with the ideas coming from some potty environmental ‘think-tank’, but as one who lives close to two schools, I have to say that I am all in favour of … ‘Car-free zones around schools’.

The idea is that parents should be banned from driving within a half-mile radius of a school to help tackle the dramatic decline in childhood activity levels.

I’m not sure how this is going to work, but if it stops the grass outside my house from being torn up by bloody great 4x4s twice a day, and allows me to drive in and out of my garage without having to ask some silly cow to move her sodding SUV, then I’m all in favour of this ban.

You never know, it might just happen, unless some traffic jam junkie of a parent takes legal action because not being able to drive their chubby little cherubs right up to the school gates is …

…  depriving them of their ‘human rights’.

These days it is very unusual for me and the old ‘trouble and strife’  to go out on a Saturday evening unless it is for some special occasion; but as the weather last Saturday was very pleasant, and there was bugger all on TV we decided to stroll to the pub for a couple of pints and then pick up a take-away from the nearby ‘Chinese’.

Now when I was a young man I would not have dreamed of going out on a Saturday night unless I was wearing a jacket, shirt and tie, pressed trousers and polished shoes. OK, so I know that those days are long gone, but I still considered changing into a smart shirt and a pair of lightweight pants.

“Don’t bother” said  ‘she who must be obeyed’ .. “Just go as you are. No one will notice”.

So I did, and she was right, as I blended in perfectly in my shapeless T shirt, with it’s worn out print on the back advertising a French fishmonger, my baggy shorts and my old stained beach shoes. In fact I was probably one of the smartest people in the pub.

Most of those standing around the bar with pints in hand, were wearing sweaty sleeveless tops, exposing sunburned muscles, and various styles of shorts, cut to show off the tattoos on their hairy legs … and that was just the women !

Shaven heads and large bellies were much in evidence, so I felt quite at ease, although the lack of metal hanging from my ears, nose and eyebrows did rather mark me out as a bit of an imposter.

A few lads were sporting replica football shirts and I noticed that a couple of them were giving me funny looks as they sipped from their bottles of  ‘Icehofbrewboombiermeisterpils’ or whatever it’s called. Then I realised that they had seen the back of my T shirt and were trying to remember if …

… ‘Poissonnerie’ played for Marseille or Montpellier.