I’ve never really given getting older a second thought, until recently, a pretty innocuous sledge crash left me feeling like I’d been in a cage fight with a randy beard loving hippo (I never injured my anus, but I was pretty mashed up).
I’ve always just been able to do what I do and not really had never had to make an allowance for my age, its just crept up on me, I just assumed by now I’d be walking around with my t shirt tucked into my jeans and wearing sensible deck shoes with a house and a wife, the easy street that leads straight to death. Well, I can say that I don’t tuck my t shirt into my jeans… 
I have noticed lately though, I get much worse hangovers than years back when I would go clubbing all night, get back and go straight out to play 4 hours of shit football (which lead my dad to accuse me of being on Heroin, he obviously didn’t research his drugs before the big talk). I get back ache, aches in general. I feel the cold; I have to acknowledge it when I fall down some stairs, rather than just dive roll at the bottom and carry on what I was doing.
I don’t dance any more (unless I’m “forbidden zone” drunk in which case I’ll break out the fucking straight up 80’s robotics and or the George Michael turn and hand clap, I don’t give a fuck when I’m hammered (MC Hammered). But most of all and from now on, I don’t get into 20mph sled crashes. (Oh yeah, I also make a weird grunting noise whenever I sit down, or pick something up, get in a car, and I’ve almost pooed myself a couple of times, erm, I’m assuming that’s age?).
I’ve got a 6 year old son, typical, full of energy, I want to keep up with him until he is at the age where we probably won’t do much together, as I will be crushingly uncool to him and he will want to be with his mates, and he will shrug and huff tut and sigh even at the mere suggestion of us doing something together. I figure I have about 5 years left, 6 tops. In that time I want to be able to kick a ball with him without the fear of keeling over, going blueberry and dying on the lawn, and having someone explain to the poor fucker that Dad’s not coming back. (PS, I was never like this with my Dad, as he was like the incarnation of Zeus and seemed to have the strength of 10 bears (until he keeled over and went blueberry coloured and die in front of me) (Someone has issues?).
Anyway, this sledge crash, or Jabba the Hut on Ice, as I call it, happened in the recent snow, I was at my mates on a huge hill, I’d improvised a sledge out of an old shop sign that was made from bendy plastic and had hardly any friction, a bit like Kerry Katona’s vagina (probably) From the moment I pushed off at the top of the hill I realised that I was more than likely in trouble. I headed faster and faster towards the bottom of the hill, and the wall of brambles and shrubbery, I thought I would have ages before I would have to initiate an emergency bail out. Turns out this was hard to judge going backwards, I managed to turn the thing around just in time to realise I was going to hit the various fauna at about 20 mph and screamed “OH JESUS CHRIST” (To imagine the son of god, head in hands while looking at the shambling state of the planet, famine, war, greed etc, distracted momentarily by the loudest cry of his name since the film, the Wicker man, only to turn round and see a fucking chunky father smashing into an organic wall, tutting, and turning back to the real suffering). I lay there, motionless, wondering if I had been impaled on something, I wasn’t, the plants were damaged, I had impaled on them, probably praying to their plant god, this was their hairy 9/11.
I walked away from it, I even had another couple of goes on the sled, and chuckled, until the next day when I realised how banged up I was.
I also had a bike crash when I was in my twenties, I came off going down a hill going over a mound so technically I went upwards in the air as the gradient of the steep hill increased below me, meaning that, according to the rider behind me, and fucking Newtons theory, I went about 15 meters in the air (I’d thought about 10) as I sailed upwards and had time to contemplate a life of being fed through a tube and not being able to play xbox, lift a pint or jerk off, I landed and couldn’t feel a thing for a fraction of a second, but ultimately walked away from that. I’ve never broken a bone, I probably should have, but I hope I never do, I got so drunk in a pub in the west end one night that I couldn’t face the stairs after a horse piss that I rolled down them like the boulder from Indiana Jones, I was indestructable. If I had that crash today, you could be certain that I would be presented to my mum in a dust pan and brush.
Getting older is not all that bad though, there are some positives, I don’t have to worry what I wear (not that I ever have) I don’t need to wear the latest trainers, Nike fucking air wanks, made from space shuttle heat tiles with the soul (yes, I said soul, they are so expensive, they actually have a living spirit) made from liquid hydrogen and guaranteed to make you run faster, this is only really apparent when some little cunt is running away after mugging you for your mid life crisis ipod and you cant catch him in your sensible deck style shoes. And labels, I don’t have to ponce around Cuntston high street trying to look for latest Polio Ralph Lauren whatever top. I am excluded from the huge Nike air bubble that exists around youngsters, and thankfully I am not old enough to be a bothersome old cunt to them, I’m in age purgatory. I can just look at them at tut while they jostle for position in their social groups and stab the granny out of each other over ridiculous rules regarding turf/respect bullshit. I’m also on the fence when I see a girl out wearing post it notes in the middle of winter, one half says, oh, she’ll catch a death, the other wants to salute the glory that is young women on the razzle.
I also don’t feel that I should go to clubs, or would be welcome there if I did, I’ve got a few years to go before I look like I am there picking a child up (as a parent you sick fuck). I think I had my shot there, and now should leave it to people who are willing to dance without a micro brewery’s worth of beer in them. I shouldn’t go either because I don’t know any of the tunes they listen to nowadays, it all sounds like a fax machine to me (fuck, how old do I sound?), and will probably scream “TUNE” and run dancing when I hear Club Tropicana by Wham without realising the DJ has played it for a wind up and then get slow clapped out, with me misunderstanding it for a rousing crowd and doing my version of the Ricky Gervais dance.
Dating – I never planned on being single at 36 (yeah?!, then why was you a bothersome fucking twat and let relationships slip through your fingers and not fight for them when the going got tough(er)?) Fuck you self conscious, always popping up in my blogs, maybe I didn’t want to fight, maybe you shouldn’t NEED to fight, maybe it should just be fun and fuck all the stupid games? (Yeah, alright, you’ve got me there, I’ll go away now) Yeah, good, get off your high horse and go and sit on the naughty step (Maybe fighting for it is actually part of it, and just fun is for fingering round the back of the bike sheds in School and not adult stuff?) WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? (Its not important right now, just bear that in mind if and when you meet someone else) Jesus, a 3 way argument with myself, too much..
Anyway, where was I, yes, dating, I find it very hard to go on “dates” with energy and enthusiasm, not that I’ve been on lots of dates, but there was always the nagging thought, when is she going to be naked, when, when, make her laugh, naked, when? Which has been replaced with, oh, I’ve told this story several times, I’m bored of saying it (in Gary Barlow monotone), maybe I am meeting the wrong people but the thought of trying to get “dates” and “pursue” someone just seems too much for me, I guess it wont get any easier, but I do see them as like job interviews for your balls, and I suppose if I was in a nature programme now I’d probably be an old bison, having lost a battle for my patch (getting dumped for the first time recently) I’ve retreated off and now find my pleasure in pursuits of the mind, “Hey, look every one, I’ve just noticed that if you rub your hoof in the earth several times” “Fuck you old bison, I’m busy getting to the fucking”. I’m sure
I’ll be fine if I meet someone decent, life is forging me in the coals of harlots, drunkards and she-blaggards.
Right, its half nine, bit tired, might need to start thinking about bed..
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