Friday, 4 May 2012

Getting Old

It happens if we are really lucky, and it is certainly not something to be taken for granted in this dangerous wonderful world of ours. If we are lucky and the our cells prevail against the many assaults of the enemy we might, just might, get old. 

Now, the outward signs of this are clearer. For me, I have rather an alarming amount of grey hair atop my bonce. Although I still can't grow a beard or 'tache with any conviction, those hairs that do gather in those places are already poking out whiter rather than the brown and russets of former years. The person looking out of the mirror at me at 7 in the morning is a frightful sight (and the one at noon not much better). I have these interesting semi-circles of pointless skin forming under my eyes and the skin on my hands doesn't ping back to shape quite so quickly. 

I am soon to turn forty!

However, it is the internal stuff that happens which surprises me. Only mere decades ago, I would sit and watch Neighbours and Home and Away (when they were good). I would enjoy watching American Wrestling (in the days when Hulk Hogan was a 3000lb beast). I could lie on my stinking bed (at that time a single-sized one) and wile away hours just listening to Eddie Van Halen or my beloved Metallica. Viz Comics were the highlight of the week, closely followed by The Bill (RIP The Bill).

And then it happened, by utter stealth.

One day I found myself watching Countryfile. One day I took off an Aerosmith record and put Bach on instead. Yesterday, while pawing over a newspaper, my heart leapt when I discovered that Francesco da Mosto was on telly with another wonderful programme about Italy (this week, Verona - hubbah). I look at yoofs and raise eyebrows, regarding them as trouble-incarnate. I am becoming more fixated upon order than edgy experiment. I enjoy tending my garden, not simply lying on the grass turning livid red in the sun with a cold one sat beside me. 

Now it must be observed that theological college is to blame in great part for this. Oddly, at theological college, it is a race to reach the pinnacles of absolute theological-college-cool - to wear tweed, smoke a pipe and talk bollocks rubbish like one knows what one is talking about, what what. Cupboards that would have housed hoodies are quickly stuffed full of the most awful liturgical muck and instead of a good pint, it is the custom of one to libate upon litres of gin, don't ya know. In short, theological college foreshortens the ageing process to the factor of ten. 

Seriously though, it is interesting how we grow and mature. I didn't choose to enjoy Countryfile - but I do. I didn't choose to enjoy programmes about Verona - but I do. Moreover, I don't remembering choosing to regard American Wrestling as a rather daft enterprise. I don't remember suddenly thinking that drinking voddy out of a milk carton in a park was wrong but ... actually, I never drank voddy out of a milk carton, anywhere. 

It's all a little strange, don't you think?!


  1. No, it's natural to change tastes in most things as we mature. We become more discerning. I hated Meat loaf when my kids adored him. Now I can appreciate him much more. Particularly after seeing him attempting to sing Opera.

    I still love 50's, 60's 70's, 80's music. After that, I seemed to stop understanding it all. My spouse introduced me to Opera, Ballet and Theatre, I must have been a cultural zombie before that. Now, I need to learn a bit about Art, not the traditional stuff you can understand, but modern stuff, which drives me potty.

    I want to understand that vision that the Artist is sharing, and work out how and why they had it?

    My imagination has really expanded, as I grow and learn, more, I can imagine more. So, being old means being able to store more and to discern. Keeping the brain cells active, stops the little grey cells (as Poirot describes them) being shed. It comes out through the grey hair, but that should make you look a little wiser (not wizened).

  2. This made me smile this morning :o). But you are right, how come we don't notice our tastes changing, just the fact that they have changed???

  3. Nah, you can't blame Theological College!

    You're just turning into YerDad.


  4. ha ha ha, from one that has turned 46 this year and finding 50 just a tad too close for comfort you just wait till your little cherubs come home school and ask if you had electricity when you were young or an outside loo & I particularly enjoyed 'how old were you in WWI?'
    My tastes have widened rather than changed with age as we still have a good mosh in this house to AC/DC but can also be found having mellow moments, generally to the likes of Ludovico Einaudi.
    However the thing that I notice the change in the most (apart from the wrinkle & white hair - please try not to notice the fact that I was vain last weekend & unsuccessfully dyed my hair) is in my body, it just doesn't do what I want any more. I couldn't dance the night away even if the mood struck without a spending a week at the Chiropractors afterwards.

    Here is to ageing but still living each day fully and making it count with a big smile (and the odd mosh)! Thank you for making me smile. Sx

  5. I remember when I was young and almost 40.

  6. It is a harsh revelation turning 40. I did this 5 years back and now I eat museli. What happened?

  7. "It's all a little strange don't you think?"

    No. It's called growing up. It just takes some, longer than others.



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