One never knows what is coming one's way and surely will never discover it unless one leaps from one's mattress and gets upright, so to speak.

Many of my acquaintances and fellow mems spend their days in droopy sleeping apparel, shuffling back and forth between the kitchen and the bathroom, with snoozes against the wall. This is self-warehousing.

There is another sub-group, and those are the ones that check themselves into the so-called old people's homes with names such as the Shy Beaver or the Nervous Fawn to avoid responsibility of any kind.

These downmarket establishments have a tendency to hire the recently paroled and dismissed navy cooks, so the inmates are fed slops and treated roughly, not to mention almost drowned on the communal bath night.

Therefore, beware if you pay for a year in advance at one of these establishments, for they won't let you go until your time is up. The management feels a low average might alarm the dozing government.

Something came up the other day by way of the local television station. As everyone knows, this channel almost went under because of deficits and a lack of advertising.

The bright idea floated by the freely perspiring manager was to sprinkle amateurs on the unsuspecting public as on-air hosts, for they could be had for a cup of tea and a crumpet, especially the senior contingent.

It was felt by management that the station would be able to avail itself of every known government grant. To this end, a member of the station's board who also was a mem at the club pushed forward the blind Admiral, Mrs. Hynde-Quarters and the Brigadier, which gave the ailing channel a disabled person, a woman and a lunatic, with the senior category more than covered.

The three sat quietly off-screen for a few days, learning by watching the pros, except the Admiral, who just smiled politely at the ceiling. There were a few signs that all might not go well when the Admiral shouted that his tea was cold just as gardening correspondent Daisy Walnut was in the throes of explaining her rock-garden theory -- no rocks -- to the nodding host.

Miss Walnut immediately removed herself and several shrubs from the premises, leaving the now-awake personality to invent a half-hour show talking to an empty chair. Some of us thought it was his best for some time.

The next host refused to appear if the gruesome threesome were still there, but that would have ruined the government cash flow, so he was thrown from a window, bringing down the fleeing Miss Walnut.

The upshot was the floor director heaved the Brigadier onto centre stage and went on air with the old soldier staring into the camera. Viewers were then treated to a man gazing about a blank studio and occasionally waving in their direction.

Strangely, he has become a huge hit as people suffering from insomnia now sleep like lambs knowing they are missing absolutely nothing of importance. He is an unexpected money-maker.

Mrs. Hynde-Quarters was asked if she were interested in budgies for her segment of a show about active seniors. She could not understand what "active seniors" would be doing with little birds as she thought them more appropriate for shut-ins and the mad, but she was game.

The next thing she knew, she was on a very high bridge with a group of grinning, fit old men (the Bungees) glancing at her flowery sun dress as they wrapped heavy Velcro around her large ankles. Singing Jesus Loves Me, she was flung into space. One can still see the jump on YouTube as "the rebounding lady."

The blind Admiral has yet to go on as they are saving him for sweeps week.

The club, I feel, is doing its bit to save local television.

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