OK, so we're now officially in a recession. Companies are folding. Jobs are being lost. And along with the rest of British business community pub licensees are understandably fearful for the future.
It is with this in mind that I plan to do my bit to keep the Great British Boozer afloat.
My task is made somewhat easier since my new, er, 'domestic circumstances' mean I have rather more time - some might say 'freedom' - to do stuff than was the case a while back.
So dagnammit I'm going to take advantage of the situation and go to the bloody pub more often!
Yes, I visit pubs quite a bit in the course of my job. But there's nothing like frequenting one as an 'ordinary' customer as I did this past weekend, out with friends for an evening of simple socialising, resisting the temptation to cast a professional eye over the latest backbar arrangement, etc.
Of course I won't be able to keep every pub in my neighbourhood in business all on my own. But you can bet I'll be doing my best to drag my chums out to a couple of favourite boozers a lot more in the months to come.
After all, supporting a good local is part and parcel of what being a citizen of this country is all about. Isn't it?
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I'm sure many of you who are parents of growing lads will agree it is a wonderful experience.
However I've noticed my nine year-old has developed an alarming behavioural trait. He either contradicts, or corrects, everything I say. And I mean everything.
There is nothing I can tell him he doesn't already know. There is no question to which he doesn't know the answer, never mind if it's correct or not. If I offer an observation on a subject he'll have a radical - and often erroneous - alternative immediately to hand.
God knows where this has come from. It's like some pre-set programme has just kicked in. True, I'm encouraged that he is a confident young man, but at the same time it's very frustrating.
Now anyone who knows me might be minded to coin a phrase containing the words 'chip', 'off', 'old' and 'block'. Or one featuring 'pot', 'calling', 'kettle' and 'black'. They may have a point.
This past weekend gave rise to the sobering realisation that my son is very much like I was when I was his age. I seem to recall winding up my own dad with my unchallengeable and all-pervading wisdom.
So as my 'know-it-all' offspring corrected me for the umpteenth time I could only laugh at how life had come full circle and kicked me squarely - and with considerable vigour - in the jacksy…