I was watching something on the telly and realized I must be part British. Not cool British like James Bond or Paul McCartney. Or even Johnny Rotten. I’m just like an awkward old extra in a Miss Marple episode.

I’m on record as not being a hugger. For me, a chin nod with a pleasant expression is the same as someone else’s bear hug. I just cringe about how I’m supposed to interact.

Here’s one, what if I said hello to someone and then see them again five minutes later?  Do they get the same hello? Or maybe just a smile? Do you go over the top and exclaim, “We meet again!” Or maybe you act like you got a call and start talking into the phone just to get past this very awkward second encounter.

The fake phone call is right out of the

There’s an old saying, if your neighbor is laid off, it’s a recession. If you’re laid off, it’s a depression.

It’s a matter of perspective —though some people have the perspective of a funhouse mirror. Always warped, always about them.

You know the type, their troubles are always worse than yours and anybody else’s.  They’re toppers. They’ve got to top you no matter what. You mention you got a bit of a sunburn and they have to tell you about the third-degree, skin-bubbling burn they got

Lots of kids headed off to college recently. That reminded me of a column from a couple of years ago:

My grandmother left Ireland for good at 16 or 17 years old (they were never sure back then) and headed to New York by boat. Soon after passing the Statue of Liberty, she hopped aboard a train and headed to San Francisco where she’d meet her brother and establish roots.  She did it all without texting.

It must’ve been so much easier on the parents then. The kids would head off and you wouldn’t

Pretty soon, Boyleing Points goes on summer vacation, which I hope extends until Thanksgiving. It’s just too damn hard typing in this heat. Anyway, I hope most of you are as forgetful as me and don’t recognize when I start to slip in columns from the past before I go completely radio silent.

With everybody out and about and heading to beaches and barbecues, it’s the time of year when having good neighbors is no small blessing. This is a retread of a 2016 column which, I have to say, made me

I hope you had a nice summer and didn’t ask for separate checks at a busy restaurant.

Which brings me to tipping. Which, it turns out, is not a subject for a column but a book.  Or at least a three-part column.

There’s a whole iceberg under the subject of tipping. It’s cultural, it’s optional, it’s expected, it’s becoming obsolete and more widespread.

Widespread, as in the proliferation of tip jars. I’m waiting for one to show up at my doctor’s office. You sign in and there’ll be a jar with

You drop the TV remote on the floor and the fun only starts. Not most of the time —every time — the batteries fall out. You’re not even finished cursing when at least one of those batteries starts rolling under the couch. You curse again as you see the little bastard disappear from view.

You get down on your knees and you can’t find the thing. Or you can see it, way back there, probably just out of reach. You feel the blood pouring into your head as you reach all the way, reach even further

Being a trendsetter means you’ve got to be ready to be laughed at and ridiculed. I’ve gone out on a limb or two and taken my fair share of abuse. They laughed at me when I touted the glory and hipness of day drinking. Most of those people are now asking me to start parties earlier. And I was an early cheerleader for the colonoscopy movement. They laughed then.  Now they’re asking me for the night-before prep tips. Speaking of which…

There’s some new do-it-at-home test called Cologuard. TV

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