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I can’t believe I missed this, but the archive of what happened when The Barefoot Quack, er, Doctor (who dispenses laughably daft new-age advice in the Observer magazine every week) went online on the Guardian’s website on Tuesday this week is possibly the funniest thing I have read in ages.

That’s questions like: “Of what, exactly, are you a doctor? Also, I know two people with Multiple Sclerosis. Should they massage their kidneys clockwise or anticlockwise? And what is the correct chant?”

And: “I’ve recently contracted syphillis. Do you have any exercises to cure me of this affliction ? Oh, and I have a friend with full blown AIDS. Would acupuncture help ?”

Even better is the fact that, according to Private Eye, the Observer had to send round the following internal memo:

“The Barefoot Doctor is online on Tuesday to answer questions of healing and health. Safe to say, he isn’t proving wildly popular and the questions are just a tad aggressive.”

The memo then went on to implore Observer hacks to redress the balance: “If some of you could take time out to ask a rather more benign question, then you’ll probably feel better for it.”

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I’ve been quietly contemplating the passage of time this week, what with it being my birthday yesterday and all. The big celebration, of course, will be on Saturday (you are coming to the pub, aren’t you? It’s a better pub than it is website, I promise).

26 might not be the rock star death age or anything, but it seems, to me at least, to be a significant step nonetheless, what with it being definitely closer to 30 than it is to 20. At 25 I could cling vainly to the notion that I was still part of that all important 18-25 “youth” target market. Alas, that is no longer the case.

No longer eligible to enter Pop Idol, or buy tickets from STA Travel, this week I renewed my Young Person’s Railcard for the last time. Even worse, yesterday we all had to fill in a survey at work and I had to place myself in the 26 – 35 age group. It’s all downhill from here, isn’t it?