It’s been a tough few days in my quest for eternal youth, and my self-esteem has taken a bit of battering in the process.
Yesterday whilst walking through the park, I heard,
“Yo grandad! Can you pass us our ball?”
Grandad? GRANDAD?! Sorry, but would a grandad be able to do … jeez, my back!
“Sorry lads, good luck getting your ball out of the tree.”
I’d like to say it was an act of defiance. Truth is I sliced it, such is life with ageing knees.
This was just hours after grumbling to myself, as I often do, about the recent trend in men’s skinny tracksuit pants. Do they not look in the mirror before leaving the house? Am I the only one seeing chicken drumsticks? Have I turned into my dad, and is this the point at which I officially crossed the generational divide into old age? Quite possibly. Looking at the positives though, at least I now know why I’ve been craving a KFC.
Then there was the documentary I’d seen advertised and quite fancied watching. It was on BBC II!. What the hell is that? When did the BBC hand over their marketing department to Prince?
But worry not, I might be getting on a bit but I knew exactly what to do. Ask Jeeves.
Apparently it’s the new BBC3, so I went to record it.
‘BBC3 has now moved online’.
Online? When was it ever offline? Is it not just a TV channel? For the love of God, I might be on the cusp of their age demographic (who am I kidding) but how do I watch it then? Where do I go? What do I …. ooh, The Carpenters Story on BBC4. That’ll do. Pop band or cabinet making, either way I’m watching that!
Then came a double blow at the library. Looking at the notice board I realised I’m closer in age to the over 50’s Crochet Club than I am the under 30 Diners? Now granted, I may have recently learned how to crochet but that’s besides the point. I’ll have you know I’m equally adept at eating … and with
all mostly all my own teeth!
But if that wasn’t bad enough, I then caught sight of my reflection in the window. An ever so slight breeze had unveiled a whole section of my scalp I’d never seen before. Oh c’mon, you have to be kidding me. Surely I’m not an easterly breeze away from having a comb over? OK, so men lose their hair far younger than me, but only a man of a certain age sees this and instantly thinks, ‘happiness is a cigar called Hamlet’!
At least the kids are blind to age. They’re not ageist. To them I’m just a dad. Age, just a number.
Luca: “You’ll die soon”.
Me: “Eh, what?”, spitting out my coffee.
Luca: “Well, the older you are the sooner you’ll die”.
Me: “I’m 41!”
Luca: “…. Yep”
WTF? And said without even looking up from his cereal.
Now, I’m not normally one for dwelling on the sixth sense prophecies of a five-year old, not least when he predicts the end of the world most nights if I dare to suggest it might be close to bedtime, and yet it’s no coincidence I pushed aside my double espresso and reached instead for a banana. What has it come to when I’m taking out life insurance from the fruit bowl?
But while I may be aging physically, in my mind I’m still … hang on, my memory isn’t what it used to be … ah yeah, I’m still young at heart.
At least I was, until last night. Because last night Janet and I had a rare night out to celebrate her birthday. Grab something to eat, hit a few bars, maybe treat ourselves to a few cocktails.
Then we discovered the last train home was 9.30pm.
I looked at Janet. Janet looked at me…
“… skip the coffee and have an early night?”
So that’s what we did. You see, age might only be a number, but at the end of the day, sleep is sleep, and only the foolishness of youth puts anything before sleep!
Talking of which, I’d better go have a lie down. Well, there’s no way I’m staying awake for Question Time if I’ve not had a wee afternoon nap on the sofa, I am 41 after all.