WELL, all right, me and Posh Boots are still going strong, much to everyone's amazement.
The consensus seems to be: she's far too good for me, and I must say I agree.
And apparently we are too lovey-dovey when out in public together, touching each other's knees ... sometimes even giving each other a peck on the cheek etc.
I supposed that sort of thing is a bit sick-baggy to behold, especially if you are long married, as some of our friends in New Brighton are, or single (ditto).

Mind you, about a year ago, people found my not-so-youthful indiscretions in the bars of New Brighton about even more shocking!
That's when I would occasoinally meet up with Linda Snog, who came across from Liverpool, and always insisted on me giving her a proper kissing in public (you know, tongues and all).
Anyway, one chum, Commuting Mitch, has come up with a nick-name for me and my current (and hopefully final) squeeze, Posh Boots. He's christened us Posh 'n' 'Specs.
That's undeniably funny, but also a bit insulting, considering the allusions to David Beckham, who I consider to be unpseakably vain (all those poseurish magazine front covers and the dodgy barnets, not to mention the squeaky voice) and his dreadful missus, the pouty beanpole of a fashion victim, Victoria.
Whatever. Me and Posh Boots had a blast of a weekend, going to the usual places in New Brighton, and also venturing out to the posher bits of the Wirral.
We went to Heswall to pick up a reserved book on Liverpool's Metropolitan Cathedral from the local library. That's for resaearch purposes for a comedy sketch I'm writing with some others in a group led by the admirable Pauline Daniels for BBC Radio Merseyside. More about that later in this posting.
I just wanted to say how odd Heswall seems. I mean, I've always know it to be a slighly snooty place, but the shops are so old-fashioned - so many tiny independent boutiques, selling frumpy clobber at grossly inflated prices for the Hyacinth Bucket types that live locally.
Coming from down-to-earth New Brighton and Wallasey, I find Heswall to be quite cold in character.
For instance, I happened to go into a cookware and crockery shop to buy a pair of bone china breakfast cups and saucers (one of each, for me and Posh Boots) and found the shopkeeper, though reasonably polite, kinda frosty and sneeringly bourgeois. Unpleasant really, and so untypical of Merseyside.
The woman in the pot shop had the sort of grimace etched on her face that reminded me of one of Hell's Waiting Room's most formidable bingo biddies, Old Ma Milosovic, who used to be in charge of corporal punishment in Wirral's orphanges in the late 1950s.
I don't know where Heswall gets its delusions of superiority from, but it is the only place in this region where you will see men wearing mustard-coloured corduroy trews, Harris tweed sports coats, and the old school tie, while out shooping at Tesco's on Saturday.
In my experience men who dress like that spend their evenings listening to Wagner and fantasising about a fascist coup for Britian. Fools. Don't they realise New Labour is already planning its Thousand Year Reich.
It starts with a smoking ban in pubs and it ends with gas chambers.
Anyway, me and Posh Boots only really went to Heswall for a recce of the retail scene, because we are considering opening a gift shop called Truth and Beauty Giftware.
The trouble is, Heswall already has at least three giftware shops, so I don't think we'll be locating our new enterprise there. Mind you, those gift shops were ill-designed and unattractive. They were stuffed with gonks wearing serial killer grins, model frogs loofahing their private parts, statuettes of fearsome African warriors, and chocolate box-style prints of yachts in the estuary, and cottages with roses round the door etc (yawn, yawn, yawn).
You'd have to dislike people pretty strongly to buy them a present from one of those shops.
Pretty soon we had had enough of Heswall and so motored on through West Kirby, Hoylake and Moreton, the latter being Posh Boots' home township.
We didn't find a suitable location for our proposed giftware shop anywhere, so we headed back to Liscard (which is where the shop might end up being) and then on to New Brighton.
When we reached the 'last resort' we went home where I cooked dinner - mince and tatties with broccoli and carrots.
Then, quite late on, we sauntered round to Tallulah's bar, where Tallulah Swells herself was wearing a basque, and so was her daughter Jade , plus two of the bar staff. Phwoarrrgh!
We settled at a table and chatted to Duncan Kindlyface and his missus Lady Di. Di's brother was there, too, but I didn't catch his name. Also present was Dixie the Jazzman.
Tallulah came across to tell us we should have come earlier, because that (Sat) had been the night she'd had burlesque dancers performing live in the bar.
Well, I was sorry to have missed them. To think all that raunch was going on while I was just a short distance away in my flat, browing the mince, cutting the broccoli into florets and the carrots into batons.
Eventually, me and Posh decided to go along to Hell's Waiting Room for the last knockings, and there we met Greta (wife of Commuting Mitch), and her friend Stewpot.
We all went into landlord Mr Cragg's splendiferous new smoking den - a glass-roofed lean-to thingie in the yard behind the pub.
Such a creation is a nice touch, and even though the facility is effectively open to the elements, it has a strip of carpet to make everyone feel at home.
It also has some amazing tall tables which, for legs, have iron statues of skimpily-clad slave girls from the days of ancient Egypt.
While in the Waiting Room's smoking grotto I had a most enjoyable chat with and old schoolfriend of Greta's, called Nick Jogger.
He's into the scooter scene, which is massive in Merseyside but virtually ignored by the mainstream media.
Pretty soon he twigged that I am the guy who does the rhyming review of the week's news on the Breakfast programme of BBC Radio Merseyside each Friday morning at about 7.45.
So we chatted about that for a while and I invited him to come along to the next meeting of the Bards of New Brighton poetry club, at 8.30pm, on Mon, 1 Oct, at the Little Brighton pub, Rowson Street, New Brighton. (It's open to all, by the way, and admission is free.)
Nick and I then talked about the inspirational, poetic songs of Paul Weller and Roddy Frame and others, and he recommended that I listen to some Ian McNabb songs. So I shall. Posh Boots says she can download some of his tunes for me.
Many thanks, by the way, to the Wirral News for publicising the fact that the Bards are planning to publish an anthology of poems about Wirral towns and villages. Hmmmm. I think I'll let someone else write the one about Heswall.
I've had 16 phone calls about that story in the paper, plus several people have stopped me in the street to ask me about the Bards.
It made me realise that it's local newspapers still, rather than any new digital media, that really have the power to make people sit up and take notice of things.
PS I did say I was collaborating with other writers on a comedy project that BBC Radio Merseyside is considering putting out on those big TV screens near the St John's Precinct in Liverpoool city centre.
My idea, if it comes off, will be a sketch about what I suspect is the hidden purpose of the Metropolitan Cathderal in Liverpool.
There is a reason why the place looks futuristic, not of this world, and somewhat sinister. Watch this space for more details.
Till next time, folks...
Keep the faith!

• Post to:
•  del.icio.us
•  Digg
•  Newsvine
•  Nowpublic
•  Reddit