Age. I suppose it catches up on us eventually. You never feel different or think different. You think you like the same things as you always have. You think you look the same as you always have.

Well I did until this morning. I haven’t shaved since Thursday. I’ve been a bit lazy I suppose but it’s the holiday weekend after all.

When I looked in the bathroom mirror after I got up I noticed something that I hadn’t noticed before. Grey hairs.

I’ve got grey hairs in my beard! I’m not even 42!

It’s funny how such a small thing can lead to a big realisation. I need to do something before it’s too late.

But what?

I was in the Lawyers’ Room at court today. It’s always full of hustle and bustle. Files and statements all over the place and there’s never any room to swing a cat. It’s the Criminal Justice System at its best.

The trouble is all the criminal justice agencies have their own agendas and they often don’t match.

‘No, you can’t adjourn the case because it means it won’t have been dealt with in x days’.

‘This case will have to be heard at another court despite the defendants and witnesses having to travel much much further’.

‘I can’t drop the case because I’ve dropped too many already’.

‘I can’t represent this defendant because the legal aid application hasn’t been dealt with’.

It’s like this day in and day out. But us practitioners all do our best. Whatever people may think we work hard, despite all the pressures. After all we just want to get the job done.

But it’s important that we retain a sense of humour too. There’s a sign in the tiny Lawyers’ Room that states;

‘ADVOCATES; Clear your rubbish’.

Some wise arse has altered this to;

‘ADVOCATES; Clearly, you’re rubbish’.

Ha bloody ha.

I attended a high level meeting at work earlier today. They’re not something I often get invited to but when you’re invited, you have to go.

The future of the organisation was discussed. Words like ‘imperative’, ‘success’ and ‘disaster’ were all used, frequently.

I could tell it was important meeting because no notes were being taken. All eyes were on me.

‘Give me 4 weeks’ I said.

Then my phone went. It was a text message.

‘That’ll be New York’ I said.

Except it wasn’t. It was a colleague. She had left her very expensive shoes in the office and was worried that they might go missing.

‘Don’t worry you can depend on me’ I found myself saying.

You’ll be pleased to hear I rescued the shoes and they were returned safely to her this morning.

I wrote the other day about how good it feels when you deliberately make someone laugh. It’s probably like receiving a seal of approval.

I wasn’t quite sure though how good you’d feel if you unintentionally made someone laugh.

Last weekend I found out. There I was pottering around the garden doing my Monty Don impression. My youngest daughter, P, was sitting on the swing. On the garden path was a wheelbarrow full of guinea pig shit and saw dust – it was piled up.

I still can’t explain it but somehow I tripped and started falling. As I fell I put my arms out to grab something – anything – to stop me. I grabbed hold of the wheelbarrow handles but they were not enough to stop me falling flat on my face.

Embarrassing enough but it didn’t end there. As I grabbed the handles I up-ended the wheelbarrow thus depositing its entire contents over my head and shoulders.

P, bless her, was watching this and couldn’t quite believe what she’d seen. A slight grin appeared on her face and it was only when I looked straight at her did we both burst out laughing.

And, yes, it felt good.

We all love to laugh. Even better though is making someone laugh. I love nothing better than being silly or telling a joke and hearing someone laughing. It’s infectious.

The other day I realised where I might have got it from. My parents look after H, R and P on Tuesdays. My father (a frustrated, if sometimes ineffective, comedian) was telling H a joke.

‘What’s the difference between a dustbin and a letter box?’ he asked her.

‘Dunno, Grandad’ she replied, trying to sound interested.

‘Well I’m not going to send you to post a letter!’ was my father’s triumphant reply. He laughed uproariously and H just gave him a quizzical look.

He tried the same joke on R. Yes, same result – he laughed uproariously and she rolled her eyes.

Then it was P’s turn (she’s six by the way).

‘What’s the difference between a dustbin and a letter box?’ he asked.

‘One’s grey and the other one is red’

The silence was deafening.

(Dad, it works better if you manage to make the other person laugh)