Been watchin' an old video of the Chinese Olympic opening night over a decade ago, and been gazing spellbound at them eleven thousand sports people from all over the world, stampin' their footprints on huge parchment paper at Beijing. Remarkable idea what? Maybe huh, just maybe years later they tell children, grandchildren, "You know that parchment paper, it's got me footprints on it?" And lil' children, they giggle, then whisper to all and sundry, "Our granddad's left his feet marks in China!"

But then suddenly me ole brain it start to think, oh yes it do, of ordinary you and ordinary me, also recording our own smelly footprints every single day of your life and mine.

"Recorded on parchment paper?" I hear you askin.

I opened the morning paper and frowned as I read headlines about inflation in India, “This is ridiculous!” I muttered to myself, “as usual the USA is jealous of us, China wants to belittle us and the UK wants to prove we were never worthy of our freedom. Ridiculous!”

"What is dad?"

Today as I'm flying back home from New York, something that stands out vividly in that city is it’s passion! A passion for enjoying work with subways and roads filled with millionaires and billionaires on their way to make a million or billion more. A passion for enjoying a holiday, even if it’s a cold winter day.

In many an auction you hear the auctioneer offering some particular piece in an ‘as is where is condition’! Which means that it is being sold in its current condition, whatever this condition happens to be. But do we accept people as they are? Do we take our husbands as the condition they are in, or our wives?

On her 50th wedding anniversary, a woman revealed the secret of her long and happy marriage. She said, "On my wedding day, I decided to make a list of ten of my husband's faults which, for the sake of the marriage, I would overlook."

Some years ago  I read how an Indian sentenced to death by UAE's Supreme Court for murdering a girl had been pardoned by the victim's parents! As a father of two daughters I can only look at such an act of mercy as beyond human understanding, divine and holy. I remember some years ago meeting Mrs Gladys Staines whose husband and two sons were gruesomely burnt to death by fanatics. I looked at her face as she spoke to me and wondered how she had managed to forgive those killers. "How?" I asked silently. She looked at me and from her soul came a smile that smoothed out her grief torn face, and I knew what she was telling me was if a God above could forgive, then why couldn’t she?