Solly As A Rock

Japanese bloke goes into the bank in New York and exchanges 1,000 yen for £70 dollars. The next day he goes in and exchanges 1,000 yen but only gets £60. 'Why I get less?' he asks. 'Fluctuations' says the teller. 'Well, fluc you Americans too,' he replies.
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Kudos to Wills and Princess Lollipop for going to visit riot-strewn youngsters in Birmingham the other day, and well done Kate for not dressing down and continuing to wear her Alistair McQueen top and Prada shoes. It's what the locals would do in her situation. And I think it's commendable for these young people from broken marriages who have grown up in a society where they are supported by the taxpayer, get free housing and expect to have everything they want without having to work for it, to finally meet troubled kids in our second city.
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I refuse to gloat over Richard Branson's bad news this week. He's made his own money his way and basically lived the kind of life many of us would have liked - let's face it, which man wouldn't want to be in a position where they have such influence over hundreds of beautiful women who would do anything to become a Virgin stewardess.
As for Kate Winslet, first the boat sinks and then the house burns down. It's surprising anyone would want to go on holiday with her.
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Talking of posh people, it is said by many that a private school education gives kids confidence if nothing else. Funnily enough, I'd never met anyone who went to Eton until I worked for The Sun and suddenly I seemed to meet loads. A couple of colleagues at Wapping went there, including a very good friend and workmate called Paddy, my wife's boss at her ad agency, an Observer sports writer who also became a good mate, plus one or two others along the way.
I used to think they'd all be posh rugger buggers, full of bluster and bravado but a bit Tim Nice-But-Dim but they weren't. Some were, of course, but I can remember meeting some of Paddy's chums from his alma mater (who I used to think was a character in Coronation Street).
I'd heard him refer to pals called Quentin and Tarquin so I prepared for young Conservatives in pink corduroy trousers and Barbours. But far from being red faced buffoons they were quite shy, a little insecure and not unintelligent. Also, they were funny and self deprecating - not Paddy of course, he went on to become political editor of the Sunday Telegraph.
Being slightly chippy I went up to one of his mates who I'd heard Paddy refer to as Torks and, jokingly, said: "Don't tell me, I bet your name is Tarquin or Quentin or something like that."
"Actually," he replied, "it's Torquil."
I can honestly say that I had never, ever, heard this word before and so, in my confused state, all I could think to say was "what? Like that big green duck?"
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The title of this blog is in memory of Nick Ashford who died this week, along with Jerry Leiber. Both are superb American songwriters who wrote for everyone from Elvis to Marvin Gaye.
Sometimes a bit of rock and roll or a bit of Motown is all you need...to get by....cheers, Solly