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Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Everything Changes

I've just had the strangest bit of nostalgia for a 'Find Maddie' story on the front of a newspaper. Doesn't that feel like years ago, like hoola-hoops, deeley-boppers and whooping cough? Clearly as you get older, nostalgia plays as much part of your life as the stiff hips first thing on a cold day.

Your own hips, before you say anything, you mucky bunch.

As we all know, I'm getting on a bit - well clearly in comparison to the excitingly-haired youths that have taken my place on the barstools of London. I'm not too bothered to be honest; gone are the days when I could stay out all night. In fact, I only ever did that the once and was dead for a week after, mostly as dancing was curtailed in favour of running away from "some cripple and his arse-wiper" in the words of my companion for the night, the incomparable evil best friend Declan. Fortunately, the club was on three floors, so we'd always manage about half-hour's respite as the wheelchair was slowly bounded down the staircase to get to us. We'd be halfway through a Spice Girls medley before Declan would get a nudge in the back of the shins from a wheelchair and the whole sorry affair would start again.

Anyway, back to the point. Age. I'm almost 33, you know. And tonight may be going on a date for the first time in... ooh, over half a decade. I have gray hair, half a jar of Horlicks at home and haven't a clue what the current number one is. But you know what is reassuring? What clearly hasn't changed in the six years since I've done this? Last night, for the first time in... ooh about six years, I got a huge spot on the end of my nose.

Typical.

2 comments:

CyberPete said...

It's probably that awful Leanna Lewis character who is number one

or Rihanna

33 is not old, don't say that as I'm turning 30 in September

at least it doesn't put a damper on the sex right?

RIGHT?

Qenny said...

Oh, you young thing you - still getting pimples. There. Can't be over the hill, can you?

You still have a couple of years in you before the dread experience of being flirted with by cute young things who then point out that they're into daddy types. That's when you know you're getting on.