An old friend rejoins the Evening Press today. YORICK, who first wrote for the paper in the 1980s, is back with his unique musings on life in general.

SO, Yorick is back, after 15 years or so, quite a lot older, but none the wiser, I hope. Age does not produce wisdom, in Yorick's experience. It produces crustiness, stiffness, disease and dribbling.

You have to give up more and more in order to benefit less and less.

But one thing has improved for oldies; they are now allowed to hold hands in public, without being called "silly old fools".

The silly old fools.

- NOW something of interest to smokers. On every pack of "tabs", a big black warning appears, promising doom, not just on the cellophane wrapping, but on the packet itself. You can't get away from it.

With tab-ash bouncing off his belly, Yorick admits that the campaign has had a discouraging effect. But, there is a silver-lining in the offing.

Yorick predicts a huge boom in the sale of silver cigarette cases (once considered a decent 21st birthday present). Confirmed smokers will buy their packs of "doom-laden" fags, and immediately transfer them to these cigarette cases, which may have engraved upon them such optimistic messages as "Enjoy!" "Cheers!" - and "Have a good day!".

- NOW Yorick springs to the defence of another persecuted majority, namely "motorists". Motorists are endlessly badgered by roadside notices telling them that "tiredness kills, take a break". There are also notices saying "speed kills", Yorick finds it difficult to reconcile these two slogans.

His first thought is that the longer you spend on the road obeying every restriction to the letter, the more tired you get and the more likely you are to kill. His second thought is that if you drive speedily but safely, you spend less time on the road, and get less tired, and are less likely to kill.

Yorick would like to suggest another roadside slogan to the transport authorities. It is this: "Boredom Kills".

Sitting endlessly behind slow drivers - they are often the same people who hog the middle lane on motorways as if on automatic pilot - can positively put you to sleep.

So why not fines for slow drivers? They cause boredom, tiredness, impatience and accidents, in which they, the real perpetrators, suffer not a scratch. A few miles further on they will drive calmly past the carnage they have caused, and remark primly to each other "Oh dear! Why are people in such a hurry these days?".

- HERE is a clerihew:

Archbishop David Hope

Is happy in his cope.

But he'd prefer it if his mitre

Fitted just a mite tighter.

So if you spot our local Archbishop sporting his fancy headgear at an irreverently jaunty angle, he is not the man to blame. It is his ecclesiastical hatters who are to blame, they've got his head-circumference wrong.

If you don't know what a "clerihew" is, I will explain next week, with another example - perhaps about David Beckham.

Beckham has already undergone nearly every media treatment under the sun, but I don't think he's ever been "clerihewed" before.

It will be a notable "first" for him to display amongst all his other medals and trophies and memorable notabilia.

- YORICK fully supports the campaign to have the Mystery Plays restored to the Museum Gardens.

Since they ceased to be performed there, they haven't been the unique occasion they used to be (despite Fossgate antique dealer Ruth Ford's performance; acting the role of Him upstairs, as Her upstairs, at the Theatre Royal).

Many years ago (don't keep harping back, Yorick, you tedious old crasher) - I auditioned to take part in the plays.

I was awarded the parts of Cain, Beelzebub and one of the torturers who nail Christ to the cross.

Clearly, the producer (Patrick Garland) saw me as a baddie. I took this as a compliment. Anyone can play goodies, but the baddies need to be really good.

Unfortunately I got a job away from York and so had to turn the parts down.

- MANY congratulations to Mary Bramley of South Duffield on her 100th birthday, last week. Usually on these occasions someone asks "What is the secret of living so long?" Mary wasn't asked this question, it seems, so she didn't have to answer it. But it was revealed later that Mary never married. Could that be the answer?

- YORICK is fundamentally opposed to the word "ban". It's a word which shows a feeble mind and a tendency to brutishness. So I am against any ban on hunting.

But the pro-hunting lobby does often come over as a bit thick, and makes it difficult for reasonable people to give them support.

Its latest idea, proposed by Sarah Morley of the Derwent Hunt (I bet they insist on pronouncing it DARwent, but apologies if I'm wrong), is to leave buckets of manure on the doorsteps of anti-hunt Yorkshire MPs.

If I were an anti-hunt MP, I should be most grateful for these buckets of manure. They wouldn't half help my garden to grow.

- YORICK would appreciate it if York council could itemise its reckless estimate that it costs them (and hence us) £6,000 to clear the dung left on our streets by the horse-drawn carriages operated by Ray Smith and Peter Fitch for the benefit of tourists. The weasel excuses of an anonymous "spokeswoman" will not do.

If the council wishes to save £6,000, Yorick has the answer.

Leave the dung there. Horse-dung is not evil-smelling and lends added authenticity to our medieval streets.

If it really needs clearing up, surely the dullards on the council could sell it to a garden centre and save money for ratepayers. But that is not really what interests them. They are only interested in preserving their overpaid, often pointless jobs.

- YORICK was chatting to David Frost at a party a few months ago, when a very attractive blonde lady tried to gate-crash the conversation. Naturally, Frost waved her away and we continued our talk.

"Who was that?" asked Frosty eventually. I didn't know either.

Later it turned out that the lady was Christine Hamilton, (wife of Neil - though some would say "boss", or even "overseer").

Last week I learned that Christine had graduated from York University and has just become patron of the University Wine Society.

Apparently she took a fancy to the society's unofficial motto: "Oxford spits, York swallows".

This is, of course, a reference to the rituals of wine-tasting, not to any other activity, unknown in the days when she was a student.

Updated: 11:21 Saturday, July 05, 2003