It is a truism that time goes faster the older you get. This past year has been the quickest so far. Days cascade through time like a waterfall in full spate. Tomorrow is almost upon us. Next week is closer than we think. Unless of course you’re 12. In which case today will be longer than you need and sitting at the dinner table eating your vegetables will last forever.
I am 56. Soon to be 57. C is older than me. We are both tending to geriatric. Joints and hips and knees don’t do what you ask them to do without shouting, and we both feel an overall malaise which comes from trying to do what we did yesterday in the same amount of time and with the same vigour. It is true to say that you never think you’re old; you just feel it. As a young man anyone over 50 was past it. Sixty? Come on, have they got their own teeth? Those people would be in their allotments, preparing the onions for pickling.
But, I don’t know about you, but my brain, whilst always over-tired, feels about 35. It has young thoughts – relevant and contemporary thoughts. I don’t look at today’s generation as a race of aliens. Doing things, listening to things and reading things that are beyond my comprehension. They don’t surprise me with their actions. Their view of life isn’t neo-post-modernism – whatever that is – a vision so unnatural to me that I see it as a tragedy. I’m not a post-war austerity bloke who can’t get his head round free-love; a rock-and-roller struggling to cope with the advent of punk. I’m not even a five-channel TV watcher that disdains on-demand video, the 24-hour news cycle and the shoutiness of Twitter. I, which I guess is like you, feel very much at home in today’s world. I’ve lived a life with open eyes. I have seen so much, nothing surprises me.
I am not Victor Meldrew. I don’t think any of us are. I don’t think I would ever say, ‘In my day …’. Today is my day. It’s just a shame that my body keeps reminding me that it’s somebody else’s.
So. 2019. What do I know about it? The truth is, anything could happen. The only certainty is that it will go quickly and my body will not be able to keep up.
Finally, for the record. I have finished the prologue of Book 5. I had to extract it with a doctor’s implement, but I got it out. Phew. Next is the much more enjoyable task of editing. I’m looking forward to that. And I fixed Doris’s two small areas of damp behind the rear wheels. I cut out most of the rotten wood, sealed it with wood hardner, filled the holes with very tough wood filler and then wax-oiled the finish product. Oh, and I’ve put some sealant down to deflect the rain. I’m hoping that’s going to be enough. And her alarm is working. I just undid all of the sensors and put them back together again. That seems t have done the trick.
And today Bex and I are going climbing. Our local leisure centre has a very sexy climbing area. I’m a fabulous climber. It’s all to do with my long limbs and huge upper-body strength. We’re going to be in the pit with a bunch of 8-year olds. I am going to look like Big Bird. They’re going to laugh at me. I hate them already.
Oh, and I’m still press-upping and sit-upping. That’s helping the aching joints…