Most weeks I try to pop in to the Care Home over the road for a cup of tea and some arty malarky with the residents.
I always come back in a better mood than I started for the simple reason that they're such a jolly bunch you'd have to have the disposition of a traffic warden who's lost his pencil not to.
(By the way, is it true the yellow line round wardens hats is to stop people parking on their heads?)
One thing I've noticed, though, is how seldom our happy band includes any men.
Apart from the obvious fact that the ladies far outnumber the chaps in most retirement homes, it seemed that something else was afoot, so I asked one particularly distinguished gent why he preferred his own company when there were such larks available.
It transpired that after a lifetime of working with women, coupled with the fact that his hearing was not what it once was, he had had enough.
"It's like being surrounded by geese!" he confided, with a twinkle in his eye.
Tim has reached the age where you can say what you think without people fainting or writing to the Telegraph.
Shortly afterwards I was seized by what I thought was an attack of excitement of the knees, but which I deduced from the smell of burnt dust was in fact A Good Idea hatching.
Working on the principle that everybody needs five portions of art each day, I resolved to trap Tim in his room and inflict a portrait on him for his own good.
Fortunately Tim is a gentleman, and proved to be charming company whilst sitting for me.
And following my art regime, he is now a regular gentleman....
It's taken a while to finish this one as it turned into a bit of a crowd scene, but as soon as it's dry I'll take it over the road and see what Tim thinks.
By the way, the lady in the pink with the wings is Adele, who spends half her life accommodating that most British of requests:
"Be an angel, make us a cup of tea..."