I am not feeling myself. My back legs have gone. I’ve contracted the most appalling malady. I’m giving it the moniker of A.A.A.A.A Syndrome – Age Activated Attention Arrears Ataxia. This is how it manifests itself: I decide to mow the lawn. As I lurch towards the front door, I notice that there are letters that have been just delivered by the postie. I go through the mail before I start to cut the grass. The lawnmower is in the garage. I lay the garage keys down on the hall table, put the junk mail in the waste bin under the table, and notice it is full. So, I decide to put the letters back on the table and take out the rubbish first. Get yer priorities in order!

However, then I think, since I’m going to be near the garage when I take out the garbage, I may as well get the lawnmower out of the garage in readiness. I take the garage keys off the table, and notice that they are actually my car keys. Seeing the car keys reminds me that it needs taxing. Moreover, the garage key is on a hook in the utility room, so I go upstairs to my study and on my desk, I find an unopened bottle of Stella Artois that I was going to drink last night. I’m going to look for my cheque book, because I need to tax my car. But first I need to push the beer bottle aside so that I don’t accidentally knock it over. I see that the beer is warm, and I decide I should put it in the refrigerator to maintain the temperature of the ale, because warm lager is horrible.

As I meander toward the kitchenette with the beer, a wilting potted plant on the dining room table attracts my attention – it needs to be watered. I plonk the bottle down on the kitchen worktop, and I discover my reading glasses that I’ve been searching for all morning. I reckon that I’d better put them back on my desk, but first I’m going to water the arid aspidistra. I set the spectacles back down on the worktop and endeavour to fill a jug with water, when I spot the TV remote control nestling by the bread crock.

My daughter Nellie must have left it in the kitchenette. I realise that later on, when we go to watch the telly, we will be looking for the remote, but nobody will even consider that it’s in the kitchen, so I decide to put it back in the living room where it belongs, but first I’ll water the plant. I splash some water on the aspidistra, but most of it spills on the mahogany table. So, I set the TV remote back down on the worktop, get some paper towel and wipe up the spill. Then I head off down the front path, trying to remember what I was planning to do.

At the end of the day: the car isn’t taxed, the lawn un-mowed, there is a warm bottle of lager sitting on the dining room table, the aspidistra’s well dead, I can’t find the TV remote, my reading specs are on the missing list. I cannot recollect what I’ve done with the car keys. I try to figure out why nowt has got done today, I’m really baffled because I know I was busy all day long, and I’m really knackered. I realise this is a serious problem, but I must remember to put the wheelie bin out tonight, because it’s Wednesday… or is it Thursday today?

Wit is often a mask. If you could peer behind its gossamer façade, you would find either genius irritated or cleverness wriggling. That’s why you should never let your mind wander. Summat that small shouldn’t be out on its own. Nurse, fetch the screens! Visit my website www.ComedianUK.com or email me: comedianuk@sky.com. Now, assume a comical position, and then strike the pose!

 Comedians and comedy writers who wish to contribute to this page should e mail mark-ritchie@btconnect.com