I turned 38 the other week.
Thirty-bloody-eight!
I'm not happy, I tell thee.
It's funny the ways that the relentless passing of time manifests itself. And it's not just the physical side of things; the daily appearance of another rogue grey hair, the fact that I have to stick scissors up my nostrils because I have horrible little hairs trying to poke out of my nose or the involuntary groans I make when doing anything remotely strenuous, like getting off the sofa. (Which by the way, I hate. It's the most useless sofa that's ever had the audacity to call itself a soft furnishing. I rue the day I bought the bloody thing).
No, things irk me these days. Some of them may well have always got on my thrupennies but my irritation seems more pronounced here in 2008.
It's only a matter of time before I'm invited to be a talking head on Grumpy old men.
Here's a selection of my moans:
- On the telly, is it really necessary to have the volume of the adverts 18 decibels louder than the actual programme? Did the TV companies strike a deal with Duracell to ensure we all use our remote controls every 12 minutes turning the bloody sound up & down. We should be told.
- Speaking of the telly, I am forever announcing that “In my day we only had 3 bloody channels, so consider yourself lucky”
- Now that I work with teenagers, I am often subjected to their “music”. Now I realise that I probably sound like my dad, but some of it is truly awful. Why are the vocals speeded up so much? In my day, Pinky & Perky did that & it was for novelty value aimed at small children. Now the youth like that? Pur-lease!
- I find myself saying “In my day” with alarming regularity & it makes me want to set myself on fire.
- See also; You don't know you're born.
- I'm genuinely troubled by that fact that I find Clare off Eastenders
(A woman in her early 20's) incredibly sexy to the point where I'd like to do unspeakable things to her, yet I clearly remember her as the sweet little daughter of Nigel years ago.
- I sometimes find the exuberance of my mid 20's colleagues tiresome. Jealous? You bet!
- Cliché alert! Police officers are, by & large, younger than I.
- Don't get me started on the way youngsters speak these days. . “That's bear dread”, “Timbaland's sick” (poor fella) & “we'll get the bus, innit”. INNIT??!! What the bloody hell do you mean “Innit”? It just doesn't make sense & you sound like a retard.
- The very idea of setting foot in a nightclub fills me with dread. (See kids, that's the correct use of the word “dread”)
- Crap films piss me off. In the past I'd just say “that was a crap film” whereas now I feel like I've been cheated out of two hours of my life that I'll never get back. I went to see “Jumper” the other week. It was crap. Nice idea, crap film. Now this is more to do with being a parent than simply getting old; The film was certificated 12 & I thought that it would be OK to take my 8 year old son, after all; the Spiderman, Lord of the Rings & X-men movies are all 12's & I wouldn't dream of preventing him from seeing those. Anyway halfway through it one of the characters tells the other to “fuck off”! In a 12! I couldn't believe my ears. My lad turned to me in shock & looked at me as if to say “I know I shouldn't have heard that, Dad”. 12 my arse!
- “Don't look back in anger”, “Creep” & “Everybody hurts” are considered “Golden oldies”.
No! “Bohemian Rhapsody” and “Ticket to ride” are bloody oldies.
Anyway, you get the point.
A friend of mine who has recently turned 40 told me that she sees life at 40 thus; Everything wonderful, eventful & exciting is mostly behind you while the future is a slow decline into nothingness, illness & hearing of people you know dying. I hope she was joking.
I don't see it that way yet, I'm hanging on to the hope that life has many joys ahead.
I'm not conceding defeat yet, innit?
