You know you’re getting old when …
This is hopefully going to be a very short-lived series - of one - mainly because I will soon be too old and decrepit to write lists, due to my senile mind failing before the second item.
You know you’re getting old when you go to a hip ‘n’ happenin’ rock gig (oh God, I sound like Tony Blackburn or, even worse, Bruno Brookes) and:
• you have a urine sample test tube in your jacket pocket because you’ve been to the doctor beforehand for routine medical tests. I hasten to add that the receptacle was empty, and that although the band were seat-wettingly good, I felt no need to fill it during the concert.
• you find yourself talking cheerfully to the middle-aged mother of one of the band after the show. We swapped knitting patterns. But she wouldn’t share any of her drugs stash with me, sadly.
• your hands start stinging when you are frantically applauding for an encore.
• you think how comfortable the seats are, and pity the poor fools who have to spend the entire gig standing.
• you realise that it will take you two whole days to recover from the ‘phew, rock ‘n’ roll’ experience.
Erm, that’s it. I think this post just served as a reminder as to why I long ago gave up writing about the day to day mundanities of my life on this site. The art of navel examination is well and truly dead. Long live obfuscation, numerous references to eyelids, and frequent use of a thesaurus.