Like most men my, ahem, 'beauty regime' is a rather haphazard one.
As the old joke goes, I usually wake up around half six in the morning -- then I get out of the back of the cab, go into the house and go to bed.
Then, when I wake up, I stumble, bleary-eyed into the bathroom and after a prolonged bout of weeping and vomiting I have a shower and ... that's it really.
Sure, a splash of deodorant and aftershave if required, which is seldom as I tend to walk around with a beard that makes me look like The Man from The Road.
Yup, it really is that dishevelled. I think it makes me look manly; Mrs Ispy thinks it makes me look like a bum.
But what do women know about fashion -- bless their little cotton socks?
And it seems that Jeremy Clarkson has once more driven the easily offended apoplectic with rage on this topic.
Dismissing the trend of metrosexual men using beauty products, he insists: "Count me out of all this tosh. I don't want to smell like a German or a bog. I want to smell of whatever I've eaten or done."
Now, while I completely agree with his justifiable reluctance to smell like a German, I draw the line of smelling of what I've eaten or done.
Because then my aroma would be one of spare ribs and apathy, because I really like doing absolutely nothing at all.
And I doubt that would go down too well in the office.
The world's most compassionate man?
How do you feel about clampers?
We all know that they're bastards and that's coming from someone who doesn't even have a car.
Having said that, I've heard some horror stories from drivers, particularly women, who complain of bullying and intimidation tactics. And let's be honest, they make your average traffic warden look like volunteers for the Peace Corps.
But English clamper Gareth Evans has really raised the bar when it comes to clampers' cruelty.
Motorist Paul Wiseman suddenly began to feel unwell while he was driving in North Yorkshire.
Worried that he was having a seizure and could crash he immediately pulled into the side of the road -- where he attracted the attention of the lurking Evans.
Evans saw that Wiseman was in a bad way and promptly called an ambulance.
So, a nice clamper story, right?
Because as he was being bundled into the ambulance he saw Evans proceeding to put a clamp on his wheel.
Wiseman's son, who was with him at the time, wanted to accompany him to the hospital but was marched to the local ATM where he withdrew £150 to buy their car's freedom back.
Well, you could see Evans's point -- what if Wiseman had died on the way and he didn't get the hundred and fifty quid?
Then he'd be the victim, wouldn't he?
Let's hit them where it hurts!
Well, they do say that desperate times call for desperate measures but this surely is taking things too far.
Madrid's prostitutes have issued a sex ban on bankers "until they fulfil their responsibilities to society" and release more cash.
Bankers are so distraught at this disgraceful piece of discrimination against them that some of them have been caught pretending to be architects and doctors but the eagle-eyed prossies claim to have caught them every time.
This is big news.
However, a distraught Dominique Strauss-Kahn (pictured) phoned Ispy last night to sob: "But the hookers in Madrid are the best in the world! Look, I know that we may have made some mistakes, but this is really taking things too far. I'm going to bloody well sue, mate."
Is that a flask -- or are you just pleased to see me?
Just how much do you love your drink?
Well, if you realy do, then help is at hand from a rather unusual device, the 'Freedom Flask.'
This unique/ innovative/ deranged device means that you now can fill the flask with beer and place it in your underpants where it has a nozzle coming out of your zipper which means you can discreetly pour away to your heart's content.
Now, I see a slight flaw in this theory -- after all, if you see a bloke with his flies undone and there is a long stream of liquid coming from his trousers into the glass he's holding you are going to think: "Wow, that guy is a genius! He's pouring beer from his jeans into his glass!"
Or, on the other hand, you'd be forgiven that you were watching a mentaller pissing into a glass.
Maybe I just have a rotten mind.
Will juror number one please come in?
Ok, nobody likes jury duty, as I wrote a few weeks ago.
But really, if you're going to evade it, then probably don't go on the radio to boast about it.
That's what happened to one Colorado woman who told the judge her friend had been in a motorcycle accident.
She then went on to the local talk radio station to extol the virtues of her cunning plan -- not realising that the judge is an avid listener to that show. He promptly busted her, which leaves her facing criminal charges.
Well, if she's that thick, it's probably best she didn't serve in the first place.