Before Leopard, Mac OS X expected the Users folder to be in the same disk location as the active System. This is usually no problem for Mac users with only one hard disk but for those cognoscenti who work in more rarified ways, having a System and the Users folders in different places is a real bonus.

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As I write this, that Trucking Never Turns-up courier company have less than 15 minutes remaining before they break their delivery promise for the third time in a row.

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Alan Titchmarsh, better known for painting sheds blue and bosom pal of Charlie’s dimmocks, was on the telly recently, describing the dung beetle’s arch enemy. According to Alan, the greater horseshoe bat waits for dusk, then pounces on the dung beetles as they take to the air in search of new pooh.

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Vicki Butler Henderson once admitted on TV that she was so in love with the car that she has underwear with ‘Type R’ printed on the waist band. I can honestly say that VB-H’s nether regions were not in my mind when I tested the Honda Civic Type R last weekend but I will admit to emitting one of those squeals of joy that have become Vicki’s trademark.

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The day after I left grammar school, in the summer before college, I started back at school but this time on the building site next door, constructing the school’s new extension. That job taught me a lot of useful lessons, such as how to drive a dumper truck, use F*** every third word and what page 3 girls look like.

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Help Lines. They are either at phone numbers that a month later, when the itemised bill comes in you try to think who you called for 2 minutes at a cost of £2.99. Then recall that most of that time was spent listening to a “nice lady” announcement telling you the call will be recorded for training purposes, what the website URL is and that they will endeavour to do their best to solve your problem if you have your 16 digit serial number ready. The one that came on a flimsy slip of paper, at the bottom of the box underneath all the polystyrene, plastic and cardboard.

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To say my daughter isn’t addicted to her mobile phone is a bit like calling Jeremy Clarkson a shy introvert who never expresses an opinion. Seldom is there a time where her latest handset isn’t within arm’s length. The day phone marrow transplants come on the market, she’ll be at the front of the queue.

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The brand new, sleek and black Mazda RX8 appeared in our drive yesterday. Exactly the sort of vehicle we like to park there, so we can pretend it’s ours. The car’s engine throbbed as the driver let it cool down before cutting the ignition. As the RX8 has a rotary engine it would be more accurate to say it wasn’t throbbing but wan… err, better stop there.

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It was only some time after I realised what a dreadful thing I had done by helpfully holding the door open for the tourist who went into the loo after me.

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“What a bunch of jobsworths!”, my partner said after she was asked to brighten up someone’s tedious presentation with cartoons. “If it’s that boring, what’s the point of presenting it in the first place?”, she grumbled into her monitor.

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