I AM totally sick of politics – but what I’m more sick of is something me and the old man thought together and then realised we weren’t alone.

In the old days of Richard Baker, Sandy Gall, Robert Dougall, Angela Rippon etc, they read the news with detachment and clarity.

There was no colouring of their own political leanings.

Why do modern day anchors and chairpeople these days feel the need to bleed their own judgements into the proceedings.

You can tell from a million miles who Fiona Bruce favours on Question Time because the ones she doesn’t, she cuts off to an annoying degree.

These days though, we have them crying and choking as well. That’s not why they’re employed.

Just deliver the bloody news and let us do the crying or cheering.

Or switch careers and get a job on Eastenders...

A friend of mine bought a second-hand car from a lmajor local car dealer.

It has turned out to be a turkey despite it being only three years old and a name he should have been able to rely on.

‘It’s been the biggest mistake of my life’ he said, having the sort of hassle you expect with an old banger sold to you by a bloke with the name ‘Honest John’.

The extended warranty at over £700 has turned out not to be worth the paper it’s been printed on and he faces a bill for £2,000, because the small print says ‘Ooh, we won’t pay for those parts, sorry’.

So my advice is always check the small print, ask the questions when you buy a motor. They’ve got you by the goolies these places, soon as they’ve taken your money the oily smiles drop. Customer service I vaguely remember that from many many years ago…

It would have been my mum and dad’s 65th wedding anniversary last Tuesday.

I’ve had dad’s ashes in my office waiting for mum to join him and she did, of course, last year. I didn’t feel ready to let either of them go, not while there is ‘outstanding business’ shall we say.

But over the last weeks it has felt right that I do so. Of course, they haven’t been trapped in the box waiting for me to make up my mind, it’s a symbolic thing, letting go of the last earthly vestiges I have of them.

So we took them to Scarborough near to Filey where they met, but it was Scarborough to where they used to get the bus and have fish and chips and walk on the beach. It was here where they fell in love, where they had their happiest times when they were young things and where they honeymooned.

Of course these scenes always play out better in the imagination.

The tide was in and rough and the sprinkle box weighed a ton. I ended up getting quite a lot of the ashes on my jeans and in my face as the wind changed. All that was missing from the scene was Benny Hill.

‘Luckily’ a massive wave crashed into me and washed my jeans clean, saturated my boots and nearly carried me off.

The OH stepped in, completed the task and was drenched up to his thighs. But mum and dad would have laughed, and we laughed, and I felt a strange lightness after we had done what we had to on their special day.

They’re back where they started and I’ll have an added layer of fondness and memories to Scarborough whenever I go back. God bless them both.