George Lee reminds me of the hypochondriac who eventually succumbed to the illnesses he complained of. The hypochondriac's
epitaph read, "I told ye I was sick."

When they announce George is coming on at the start of the news, it's like waiting for the postman's knock during World War II. It's shoot the messenger, but George was right all along and had the
bottle to stick to his guns when he was bullied and lampooned.

Yes, George has become the pin-up boy of the nouveau recessionaires, but our recession was much worse. There were harrowing tales of students making dinners out of dog food. The dog food isn't that bad. I never heard of a dog dying from it. And what is it only meat and two veg.

Back then we educated our children for export. Our second biggest export was the cattle, but they were subsidised. I hope it's not starting all over again. Our new deportees are even saying the same thing as my pals – "I'll be back in a year or two." We thought we'd never again see such sad days.

Recently I heard two tycoons
compete with each other as to how little they had going to England. One fella had a hammer and the other lad had a tenner. And of course the two went on about
sleeping rough, frying steaks on shovels and going to the soup kitchens in the snow when there was no work. "The spoilt brats of today would probably ask for carrot and ginger soup with a hint of tarragon and a dollop of cream," said the hammer man.

Yes, our one was definitely worse because it lasted for about 30 years, but my mother's was worse again. Her generation didn't begrudge us, though. It was as if they enjoyed our better times vicariously.

That sound man my Uncle Jim had a country shop and the mother worked there. The plastic buckets had just come out and a neighbour invested in one. He didn't come back for three months. It seems he was greatly aggrieved. The man had no pots or pans and when he attempted to boil a few spuds in the new bucket, it melted before his very eyes.

We've come a long way.