It was an event that truly put the town on the map and, in its heyday, it attracted an astonishing number of visitors to what even its biggest fans will admit is an otherwise unremarkable market town.

As a young trainee reporter I played a small part in its history as one year I covered the event and wrote the front page story for The ET's sister paper, the Lincolnshire Free Press.

Spiralling costs have been blamed for the decision to axe the parade, and I'm sure the organisers didn't take the decision lightly.

I hope they don't live to regret it but I fear they might. It was a unique selling point for the town and one that will be impossible to replace.

Life has changed dramatically in the 50 years since the parade first wound its way round the town's streets and nowhere more so than in the leisure industry.
At one time The ET used to sent a reporter and photographer on the train because the town was too busy to access by car.

Maybe the parade has simply reached its sell-by date. And with an audience demanding ever more sophisticated entertainment, a few floats, sandwiches and beers might not tick enough boxes.

One thing that does puzzle me is that two key elements blamed for the increased costs are health and safety and policing.

Is this another victory for compo culture and the yobbish element?
Twenty years ago when I covered the event, the only trouble came from a few rowdy farm boys who proved a spot of sun and several shandies was an incendiary mix.

And the only health and safety risk was being trampled underfoot by a tulip-loving granny from Turves.

I guess times change, and, at the risk of sounding like my dad, not always for the better.

The key to a stress free relationship
Early on Monday morning I got a panicky phone call from My Special Friend.
"Have you seen my car keys?" she asked in a needlessly accusatory tone which implied I had hidden them for a laugh.

I didn't rise to the bait. "No, I haven't. When did you have them last?'' I said trying to jog what passes for a memory in her pretty little head.
"I think before we went away for the weekend I hid them somewhere safe, but I can't remember where."

Great, I thought, in her bid to outsmart an imaginary gang of sophisticated car thieves who for some reason are targeting a not very new Ford Fiesta, she's made her keys more difficult to find than someone who thinks the Brewery Tap should be demolished.

Eventually, she did find them, but only after a lot of needless stress.
We don't have this problem when she "loses'' her glasses . . . they're normally perched on the top of her head.

Forget Beijing . . . all eyes on Glanford Park
The eyes of the world will be on Beijing at the weekend when the 2008 Olympics gets underway. The battle for gold in the Ladies Not-Very Synchronised Bikini Land Surfing team event should be particularly worth watching.

But not for me. I'll be far more interested in what's happening at Fortress Glanford Park where my boys Leeds United take on Scunthorpe.

Half-eaten pies, linos who need glasses and misplaced passes – now that's what I call The Greatest Show On Earth.