ONE of the disturbing consequences of being a dad and gettiing old is that my memory - never much to write home about - is going completely to pot. More like a colander than a sieve.

I've forgotten what its like to have any money. I've forgotten what it's like to have a lie-in. I've forgotten what its like to have the bathroom to myself. I've forgotten what its like to have peace and quiet. And I've forgotten what its like for the house to be tidy. Come to think of it, I've even forgotten how old I am.

When I go to the gym, in a desperate effort to stay young, the exercise bike asks me to enter the programme, the workout time and my age. A creature of habit, the programme is always a hill climb, the workout time is always 15 minutes, and when the age defaults automatically to 35 I just hit 'enter' without giving it a further thought. I suspect that exercise bike will still think Im 35 when I'm 70.

All week, it seems like I've been in trouble for not remembering things: I forgot to take Jack's glasses into school as I'd been asked; I forgot to bring a pint of milk home; and I received a particularly cross telephone call at the office because I'd forgotten to take the tennis racquets out of the car before I left for work.

I'm on my second wedding ring because I can't remember where I put the first, and I've had the house upside down over the past few days because I can't for the life of me remember where my favourite pair of jeans are. (The ring and the trousers have been particularly difficult to explain to my wife.)

The kids can't play in the giant inflatable swimming pool that was bought for the garden because I forgot it was there while I absent-mindedly mowed the lawn and gave it a sudden attack of flatulence. Like the boy with his finger in the dyke, I frantically tried to stop the gush of water from the gaping wound but it was to no avail. I eventually had to own up and my wife's making absolutely sure I don't forget that one.

I've taken to writing notes to myself on my hand. As the day wears on, the scribbles start creeping up my arm, which makes me look like the tattooed man from a freak show. I once went through a whole day with the words 'MUST NOT FORGET ANNIVERSARY - DEATH' scrawled across my knuckles.

It really works. I almost missed school sports day last week but made it in the nick of time because it was written on my hand. Mind you, I forgot I was supposed to be running in the grown-ups' race and was chatting in the hot dog queue when it took place, much to the children's disappointment. My wife reckons this is all a man thing. Women don't suffer from amnesia. They remember everything especially every little mistake made my their men.

Nevertheless, she's bought herself a 'reminder board' for the kitchen on which she scribbles things she needs from the supermarket and all kinds of other memory-joggers. I happened to notice that there was a note in blue marker pen on the board the other day: "MUM PLEASE LEND ME £10. JUST LEAVE IT IN CHRISTOPHER'S MONEY BOX AND I'LL GET IT FROM THERE. LOVE DAD XXX." Now, I certainly don't remember writing that!

PS The grown-ups' race at Hurworth Primary School sports day was clearly won by deputy headteacher John Graham but, in an unbelievable miscarriage of justice, he was placed second by the judges. As I said to him shortly after the race, it's what's printed in the Echo that counts. (Mind you, he only won because I was in the hot dog queue.)

THE THINGS THEY SAY

* JAMIE, the beloved West Highland White, was 16 and a half when he died on Easter Sunday. His owner Freda Weatherspoon, of Ouston and a member of the Durham Federation of Women's Institutes, knew his life was over when she took him to the vet. After Jamie had been put to sleep, she sat in her car, breaking her heart.

"Grandma, where's Jamie gone?" asked six-year-old Kieran from the back seat. "He's gone to heaven," Grandma sobbed. "Thats all right," replied Kieran, "he'll see the Queen Mum. She went yesterday."

* OUR Max, aged five, had been complaining of feeling ill but then asked if he could have something to eat. "But I thought you were feeling sick?" said Mum. "I'm only sick in the throat, not the stomach," he replied.

THE THINGS THEY WRITE

* A SPEAKING engagement took me to Yarm School, where headmaster David Dunn revealed that the following answers were offered in a Science GCSE exam. He took great care to stress that they did not come from his school...

Give definitions of the following:

* GERMINATE "to become a naturalised German."

* MAGNET "something you find crawling all over a dead cat."

* MOMENTUM "what you give a person when they are going away."

* RHUBARB "A kind of celery gone bloodshot."

Or how about these...

"To remove dust from the eye, pull the eye down over the nose."

"For a nosebleed: put the nose much lower than the body until the heart stops."

Published: 18/07/2002