Under pressure

My mother has got one of those brain trainer games, where you do a few puzzles and it gives you an estimate of your brain age. She got this, I think, in relation to her forthcoming sixtieth birthday. The first time she did it, her brain was sixty exactly. Next time, it was down to fifty-four. What this means other than she's getting faster at the games, I don't know. Anyway, yesterday she told me her brain is thirty-one, which is younger than my actual age. Great for her. Not so great for me when she thrust the thing at me and said, 'Why don't you have a go?' Oh, the pressure. Happily, my brain turned out to be twenty-seven. Phew.

You know how you can look at something every day for years without really seeing it? Today while I was looking for something in the resource library at work, I saw a box that I've looked at every working day for five years and I finally took in the logo on it: two men in underpants, bandaging one's arm. What train of events would lead to this situation, do you think?



My male colleagues have been wearing shorts all week. They had an important meeting today, so one of them went for a trouser but the other decided to break out the formal shorts and pair them with knee socks and sandals. Wouldn't international summits be better if more of the world's leaders adopted this fashion? Funnier, anyway.