Doug Speirs

Bidding fond farewell to a career full of hilarity and hijinx

The time has finally come for me to say thank you and goodbye — again.

A valuable lesson from the book of Bogey

It probably doesn’t qualify as a Christmas miracle, but we’ll take it all the same.

Columnist really nailing the holiday spirit

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas — and for the first time that includes my toenails.

What’s in a name? Whatever you call your pet is still just as sweet

When my daughter moved home about three weeks ago after spending several years working and living in northwestern Ontario, she didn’t come alone.

Ho, ho, hold on a minute

Jeff Liba had some big boots to fill on Tuesday morning — and he’ll be squeezing into them again today.

You can have my candy when you pry it out of my zombie hands

There are only two more sleeps until Halloween, and I think all you protective parents know exactly what that means, don’t you?

Tables work their magic with dementia patients

Modern medicine can work wonders, but residents at Winnipeg’s Riverview Health Centre are discovering that a little magic can also transform the lives of people living with cognitive challenges.

It’s a dog-eat-pumpkin-spice world… and I’m wearing whipped-cream underwear

For more than a decade, I have been using this column to rage against the ever-growing pumpkinification of North America.

Tims’ cookie campaign something to smile about

When I reached Jane Kidd-Hantscher on her cellphone Wednesday morning, I could tell the executive director of the Children’s Rehabilitation Foundation wasn’t sitting behind her desk.

Raising a glass to 102 great years of great-auntie Ann

I hate to brag, but here I am in Vancouver, sipping sangria in a hip and happening sidewalk café while soaking up the West Coast sunshine on a gorgeous late-summer day.

One year of grandparenthood couldn’t feel finer

If you are wondering about that big, stupid grin plastered on my face, there’s a simple explanation.

Cool level red-hot thanks to hand-me-down shades

There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to blurt it out — after spending 65 years on this planet, I have finally become a hip and happening sort of guy.

A kayak? This landlubber’s good on the dock, thanks

I was stretched out on the couch in the den the other morning when, suddenly and without warning, the dogs began barking at something on the other side of the living room window.

Golfer? Sure. I bucketed a birdie and an eagle just last week

For the record, I am not one of those people who always dreamed about honing his skills on the golf course after retiring.

No, I am one of those people who dreamed about perfecting his ability to relax on the couch in the den and lapse into a coma while watching hour after hour of the Weather Network.

The point is, even though I am now in a state of semi-retirement, I still get invited to participate in charity golf tournaments because I am the sort of person who is willing to accept free food and prizes for doing absolutely nothing.

It is not easy, using mere words, to describe how horrible I am at the game of golf, but I am willing to give it the old columnist try: I am really, really horrible at golf! It would make more sense for me to buy a dozen golf balls, drive to the nearest course, then stand on the first tee and throw them into the woods without going to all the expense of shelling out for a cart and green fees.