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Had one of those birthdays a while back and – while I’m nowhere nearly in the same league as Methuselah Whatley (“I am a man of great age”…) – you do start become aware of your own mortality.

Especially when 2 of the guys you used to work with fall off the perch within days of each other last week.

At this rate, our old boss – 91 – is going to outlive us all….

But there was a nice touch on Trollo’s death notice.

Goes back decades.

Trollo was the nicest bloke, but he was just SO bloody lazy.
He’d wait until someone – mostly his wife, but he’d try it on in the office (a cattle prod on the testicles from Hannibal cured him of that trick…) – got up and he’d say “While you’re up, could you….”

But once he did endeavour to pull his weight at home.

Big tray of glasses needed carrying into the kitchen and he got cajoled into helping out

“Do you think you can make it?” his wife asks.

“We’ll see” he says, followed by a horrendously loud sound of breaking glass.

Head pops around the door.

“Ah, I didn’t make it, dear”