At a French airport one day, the customs official looked suspiciously at Hitchcock's passport, in which his occupation was listed simply as "Producer." "What do you produce?" he asked. "Gooseflesh," Hitchcock replied

Early this century, Julie Andrews was invited to be guest of honour at a charity function and her acceptance speech included a rendition of "Favourite Things." Instead of the original copyright lyrics she sang her own version, which I can not repeat in case that too is copyright. Instead I offer my own version , which goes:-

Favourite Things

Old crocks on Botox, who cough for the nation
Mates who have macular degeneration
Baldies whose hair has flown off without wings;
Still we are grandchildren's favourite things.
When our joints ache and our backs break
And we stay in bed
We are thinking of strings of our favourite things
And we dream on instead.

Waist hooks and scrapbooks and tomes about knitting
Nursemaids and deaf aids, and hips spread from sitting.
Pots packed with pills we've forgotten to take.
Flowers for friends it is hard to forsake.
When our knees creak and we can't speak
As our throats feel bad
We think of the ends of those favourite friends
Feeling so very sad.

Old bones and gall stones and stones in odd places
Dentures so loose they fall out with their braces
Morning injections and stubborn glucose
Yawning infections and stubbing blue toes.
Anaesthesia and amnesia
Can at times be rife
But memory brings us our favourite things
From when we had a life

Carelessly tripping when others are charier
Proton pumped stomachs from spiral bacteria.
Guts make rude noises as we cough or sneeze
Buggies that never could pass M.O.T.s
I'm no poet and I know it
Penning this for you
Writing it sings of my favourite things.
I hope you like it too.

H.D.

Sir Thomas Beecham was traveling in a nonsmoking compartment on a train belonging to the Great Western Railway. A lady entered the compartment and lit a cigarette, saying, "I'm sure you won't object if I smoke."

"Not at all," replied Beecham, "provided that you don't object if I'm sick."

"I don't think you know who I am," the lady haughtily pointed out. "I'm one of the directors' wives."

"Madam," said Beecham, "if you were the director's only wife, I should still be sick."

By a strange coincidence Jefferson and his old rival John Adams both died on the 50th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence—July 4, 1826. On the evening of July 3, Jefferson was in bed, his life ebbing rapidly. "This is the Fourth?" he whispered to a young friend watching by his bedside. The man couldn't bring himself to say that it was not yet, so kept silent. Jefferson repeated the question, and this time the friend nodded. A look of deep satisfaction came over Jefferson's face, he sighed deeply, lay back, sank into a deep sleep, and died shortly after noon on the Fourth

The acclaimed musician Johann Peter Salomon gave violin lessons to George III, but found the king neither an apt nor a diligent pupil. Torn between exasperation and the wish to encourage the royal fiddler, Salomon delivered the following pronouncement: "Your Majesty, fiddlers may be divided into three classes: the first, those who cannot play at all; the second, those who play badly; the third, those who play well. You, sire, have already attained the second class."