I’m thinking of starting a political party. I’m going to call it the The Honesty Party. Honesty will be not only the best policy but the only policy.

I reckon it will work. After all, most people must be fed up with what we’ve got now. Take what’s happened over the last couple of weeks. The 2 CDs that were lost – it wasn’t the fault of the politicians. Oh no. It was some poor sod in the office who probably wasn’t trained properly and whose job has changed several times in the last year or so.

That’s the trouble with this government. They like to change things to give the illusion of progress. It’s always ‘time for change’. Well, I reckon it’s time for a bit of stability for a change.

So that’s why I’m doing it. Honesty is the only way forward. If something goes wrong, we’ll admit it was our fault. We’ll take responsibility. We’ll tell it how it is.

We won’t be afraid to call a spade a spade (I was using one just the other day to dig a hole to bury my cat, as it happens). Political correctness will be a thing of the past!

I’m going to ask Roy Walker from Catchphrase to be our Chairman and his slogan will be ‘Say what you see!’.

So then, want to join me?

Well you can’t I’m afraid.

It’s all lies.

For some reason my local supermarket has decided to replace the ‘Baskets Only’ checkouts with those self scan tills. You know, the ones that we customers never know quite how to use.

It’s with a sense of trepidation that I approach these things. I always check that I’ve got no loose fruit and veg because that would certainly flummox me. The first problem is that you can never get the machine to read the barcode properly and it takes several swipes before you hear the ‘beep’ to confirm that it’s been scanned properly. When you do finally manage to scan the item a female voice pipes up and tells you that there’s an ‘Unexpected item in the baggage area’. Unexpected? Why? I’ve just scanned the bloody thing so the next thing I want to do is bag it! Maybe I should be telling the machine ‘Look, I’m just about to scan this tin of soup so don’t be surprised if it ends up in the baggage area’.

I thought I’d get clever though. I touched the screen where it said ‘Skip bagging’ in the hope that it wouldn’t be taken aback again. Wrong thing to do. If you ‘skip bagging’ too many times then special authorisation is needed to continue – but, of course, there is only one member of staff to assist with four tills and all the customers are having the same problem.

I suppose it is funny to watch – customers clutching the items with both hands in front of the scanner, tongue poking out in concentration, waving the item around and then having a sense of achievement as though they’ve just won a round on The Krypton Factor. The poor member of staff meanwhile is flitting from till to till punching in her code to allow us customers to continue.

For those who like to observe human behaviour it’s entertaining. For those who just want to get home with their shopping it’s frustrating.

And the last thing you want to hear is the female voice saying,

‘Thank you for using the fast lane.’

When it comes to DIY, I’m a bit shy. I’m not very good at it (I use the excuse that I’m left-handed) so I always revert to GSI (Get Someone In).

Don’t get me wrong, I can strip wallpaper or knock a wall down – it’s the hanging wallpaper and building a wall bit that flummoxes me. Sometimes though I I try. I don’t tell anyone what I’m going to do and sometimes it can take me weeks to work out what I need to do and how I’m going to do it. I don’t announce it to anyone – the expectation and nagging would get to me.

Last week I decided to make the outside of the house look presentable. Weeds had sprung up along the bottom of the wall and had become unsightly. I had removed them from time to time but they always returned. I got a picture in my head – what if I dug them out once and for all and replaced them with pebbles all along the bottom of the wall?

I zipped up to B and Q and got 3 bags of beach pebbles. It was quite weird wondering around knowing exactly what I was looking for. I bet even some customers were thinking, ‘There’s a man who knows what to do!’

When I returned home I got straight to it – my wife and children were out so it was the perfect opportunity. I proceeded to dig out the weeds and left a wide enough gap so I could tip the pebbles in. It was easier than I thought and took me less than an hour.

I felt chuffed with myself and was safe in the knowledge that at least it wouldn’t fall down or fall apart.

The best bit though was still to come. A couple of days later my neighbour asked where I’d got the pebbles from and how many bags of pebbles I’d used. Apparently, his wife had seen what I’d done and loved it and she wanted the same for the outside of her house!

Me being asked advice on DIY? I suppose there’s a first time for everything.

I’m thinking of starting my own Political Party. The time is right I reckon – especially with the TV stations taking us for a ride what with their phoney phone-ins and other tricks.

I was watching the news the other morning – it was an item about primary schools – and they interviewed a ‘family’ about the particular situation. Where did they get the ‘family’ from? How come no-one I know is ever invited to take part? I reckon the ‘family’ was a friend of a friend. It’s just easier that way.

Anyway, this Political Party of mine. I’m going to call it the Honesty Party and the slogan is going to be ‘Honest is the best policy’. No spin, no bullshit. If we cock up, we cock up. A spade is a spade. Tell it like it is, not like the Emperor in his new clothes would.

I’m not sure it’ll catch on.

So the eighth series of Big Brother has begun. I must confess to having watched it – just to see what characters had put themselves forward this time. I suppose it’s part of human nature to watch other human beings do things. After all, who hasn’t sat on a park bench idly watching the world go by?

What strikes me though is that the contestants on Big Brother are becoming less and less representative of society in general. Maybe it’s just me but it seems that the wackier and more outrageous you are the more likely you are to be chosen to enter the Big Brother house to enjoy your 15 minutes of fame.

I was discussing this with my wife last night. We were sat in the kitchen watching the TV. I had my customary wine glass in hand.

‘They never have ordinary people in the house do they?’ I said. ‘There’s never just an ordinary bloke, with ordinary views’.

‘No, darling’ came the reply.

‘I think it would be refreshing to have someone like me in there. Not controversial, likes wine. Likes to read, that sort of thing. Isn’t loud or obnoxious…’ I said. ‘You know, someone most people can relate to.’

‘Yes, darling’ she said.

A few seconds went by.

‘You should apply for the next series’ she said.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, then we’ll be able to switch you off when we want.’

Those of you who are good enough to read this blog will know that my wife and children have a penchant for pets. In our back garden we have two wooden ‘Wendy Houses’ full of guinea pigs and rabbits not to mention the 6 hutches in the garage.

We also have two dogs and a cat (the cat, incidentally, is on his way out and keeps sneezing snot everywhere).

The dogs – if you can call them that – are a Yorkshire Terrier and a Bichon Frise. The Yorkie had been with my wife longer than me so I guess he’s top dog. The Bichon Frise is the newest member of our extended family.

He was badly treated by his former owner and when my wife was told by a friend she took pity on him and brought him home and cleaned him up. I didn’t discover this until I arrived home from work to come face to face with an animal that looked like a little lost lamb that had been sheared by a blind barber.

‘What the hell is that?’ I said on entering the front door.

‘It’s Gizmo. We’re looking after him’.

‘Well, you’re not keeping him. We’ve got enough animals’ I replied thinking of yet another mouth to feed.

For the next few days I was subjected to huff and puffs and forlorn expressions as we asked around for a suitable owner. The elderly mother of a friend of a friend said that she’d like some company so we arranged for Gizmo to be collected on the following Saturday. My wife and daughters didn’t want to be at home when he was collected so arranged to go out.

Gizmo’s bag was packed and off he went in the back on the friend’s car to his new life.

Or so I thought. Within a hour, the doorbell went and there was the friend of a friend with Gizmo.

‘What’s wrong?’ I enquired.

‘I’m afraid he’s just too boisterous for my mum. She can’t handle him’.

My shoulders visibly sagged as I took the dog back in.

Not long after, my wife and daughters returned. When they came in, Gizmo was all over them, tail wagging excitedly.

‘What happened, Dad? Why is he still here?’

‘Well, you know……I saw how sad you all were. I just think he’ll be happier here. I couldn’t let him go’.

Whatever you do, don’t tell them.

I know it sounds silly but even though I’m married with children I like my independence.

Before I settled down I lived by myself and was comfortable cooking, cleaning, shopping and ironing for myself. I still do all of those things now.

Tonight, my eldest daughter wanted to learn how to iron. So there we were. I was teaching my daughter how to iron!

You know how it is; “Collar first, now sleeves. Splash of water to get rid of the creases…..”

Then my two other daughters wanted to get involved. They had a go too. Imagine it! A father showing his daughters how to iron shirts.

They can do their own knickers though.

And if my middle daughter, R, is involved they’re inevitable. In fact, you can almost guarantee it. If the 5 of us go out as a family you can bet your bottom dollar that it will be R who will return covered in dirt from head to toe whilst the other 4 of us remain the same as when we went out.

It must be something in her genes. The other night she was playing the PC game ‘The Sims’ (one of her favourites). I heard some furious tapping coming from the playroom so I went to investigate. There was R bashing away at the keyboard trying to direct the characters.

When I looked closer I realised that the characters were actually firemen trying to put out a housefire.

‘What’s going on R?’ I asked.

‘I set the kitchen alight when I was cooking a meal’ she replied.

I wouldn’t change her though.

We’ve just experienced the warmest winter since 1916. The plants are going haywire, lambs are being born, roses are blooming and grass is even having to be mowed.

It’s all our fault apparently. Man is to blame (funny that woman isn’t). A report by eminent scientists says that it’s incontrovertible. Has anyone seen the report? Or the data it’s based on?

I think it’s paranoia or scare tactics to stop us worrying about the real problems in the world. I agree that we should care for our planet (and each other, more to the point).

Some people say we’re heading for a new Ice Age – but hasn’t this planet been there before?

Who was to blame then? I don’t think we were around were we?

And incidentally, what did we do in 1916 to stave off global warming for another 90 years?

I’ve never been religious. I went to Sunday School as a kid but it turned me off. I’ve always considered myself as an atheist and even thought the Church was hypocritical. But I’m beginning to change. I haven’t seen the light or anything but it’s the politically correct brigade who are converting me. It all started when British Airways banned a member of staff from wearing a cross whilst working (no doubt, at the same time, allowing a veiled woman to push the food and drinks trolley down the aisle of the 747).

Now they’re talking about toning down Christmas for fear of offending other religions. For God’s sake! (ooops sorry).

This is a Christian country. We respect other religions.

Time we started respecting our own.