A decent beard has long been the number one must-have fashion item for any fugitive from justice.
From Craig Brown
My life is a monument to procrastination, to the art of putting things off until later, or much later, or possibly never.
Everyone must know by now that the aim of Scrabble is to gain the moral high ground, the loser being the first player to slam the board shut and upset all the letters over the floor.
Monopoly may also end in tears, but its tensions are cruder, lacking the infinitely subtle shadings of irritation and acrimony provided by Scrabble.
When I tell people I don't own a mobile phone and wouldn't know how to text, they react as though I have just confessed that I can't read.
As a rough rule of thumb, I would say the smaller the pond, the more belligerent the fish.
It is hard being a football loather, a football unfan. I sometimes feel as lonely as the sole survivor in the last reel of a Zombie film, as, one by one, old friends reveal themselves, with their glassy stares and outstretched arms, to have succumbed to the lure.
Some people see life as a game of chess, while others prefer to see it as a game of cricket; but the longer I live, the more I think of it as a game of Consequences.
Cleanliness is the scourge of art.
There's nothing wrong with procrastination. Or is there? I'll leave it to you to decide, but only if you have the time.
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