As you all know, we’ve now entered the Age of Aquarium. So I’ve fixed the wife up with a topical fish-tank in the lounge. She says it reminds ’er of me - ’specially the Japanese killer monk-fish which cost 300 nicker. That’s a lot for a Buddhist fish. So now when I nips out for lodge-meetings, she’s not left lonely. I can’t be all bad. The kids? Glad you asked. Kerry-Ann and Troy ’ve both reached that difficult age. I don’t know ’ow you deal with it. As for me, I think it’s best to ignore it and let ’em do what they like. You can’t stop ’em, can you? ’Gainst Nature. Specially when you know you’ve brought ’em up proper. Any’ow, to give this New Age thing a bit of a send-off, I got Kerry-Ann an astronomical necklace. She’s a Virgo and she ain’t ’alf chuffed. Course she is. 22 carat gold. She’s worth it - and she does love ’er old man. Pity I can’t say the same for young Troy there. Troy’s just 17 an’ it’s only right ’e started thinkin’ like a man. A business-man. Like his dad. So I thinks to meself, we’re all goin’ to be spendin’ a lot more time on the M25, so why not sort ’im out with a really stormin’ BMW Coupé? Second-’and, mind. It pays to know people. Nabbed it for a couple o’ K from Tony Maccetti : the Italian geezer with the cheeseburger outlet and massage-parlour complex in Twick’nam. Tony’s bruvver told me it was a hot motor. Too right. Runs like a neutered whippet.
    Now Troy’s mother reckons I’m spoilin’ the lad. You can’t expect women to know ’bout basic P.R., can you? Cos when Tony’s mates drool over the pressed-steel bonnet an’ ask ’im ’ow an ’alf-soaked berk like ’im came by such a spankin’ set o’ wheels, ’e’ll tell ’em it’s all thanks to ’is old man. So when they’re big enough - and man enough - to splash out on double-glazing and a lounge/patio extension, they’ll know who’s got the business. It’s money in the bank. Fair and square.
    Now on the great dual-carriageway of life, it’s nice to know some things never change. Like dosh. You can’t give it if you ain’t got it, can you? Course not. ’Gainst Nature. But before you start callin’ ol’ Stotie a maternalist, stick this in yer shell-like : Man cannot live on breath alone. So sez the V.O.S.L. and I’m all for it. There’s more to life than meets the wife, know what I mean? Course you do. Cos when my dear ol’ pop brought a - let’s face it - nervous, spotty, slightly over-weight Norman Stote into the Craft, ’e says to me : “It’s all about givin’, son. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.” And the old man was right. But, let’s be fair - ’e was a bit of a softie, rest ’is soul. You can’t make a pig’s purse out of a silk ’andkerchief. As me own Pauline is always sayin’ : “My man might be small, but ’e’s bigger than the other guys cos ’e stands on a fatter wallet.” Well provided-for is Pauline. Charity starts at ’ome, know what I mean?
    All I’m tryin’ to say is that a mason should make an effort. Like reading. Tryin’ to understand what it’s all about. Take me. I’ve never been one for books an’ all that, but I was skippin’ through this book the other day, and it says Masonry comes from Simon Templar. Remember ’im? Used to call ’im The Saint. Stands to reason. Simon Templar was loaded. That’s why all ’is programmes was shot on the Riviera. I’ve always liked boats meself. Still, that’s enough dreamin’. I’ve just got a call comin’ in. Should trawl in a tidy wedge : gross. Trust Norman. Fair and Square.