You only need to know the answer two things to get by in this life, "Where's the remote control?" and "Whatever happened to my youth?" All other questions boil down to simple sub questions that can be traced back to these two root questions.

Take, "Is there a God?" Do we need to know the answer? Would it really help us in our short span on this planet if we knew the answer to that? I doubt it, besides there's a programme on National Geographic about the very same subject, ergo "Where's the remote control?" What other thing in life can motivate us in our passions, thoughts, loves, fears, hatred, politics and friends other than a fast disappearing youth? I can think of none. World Peace would be nice, but so would pecs that don't resemble the ear of a spaniel. Free health care for all seems such a jolly idea, and one I'm definitely in support of, except I've more pressing things like wondering why I can't go out for a night anymore without spending two days in pain? Why I can't focus on hedonistic pleasures of wasting money on booze, drugs and fashion and instead opt to save up for a trip to the hardware store, because I really need a new lawnmower?

It's gone - my youth that is, not the remote control. So what's a man in his 30s to do? What do you do when rather than lust and obsess over female colleagues, you turn your attention to patches of brown grass on the lawn? When before you would skip work to facilitate a heavy boozy session, you find yourself skipping work to give the lawn a feed and weed. And especially when you start saying things like "Facilitate a heavy boozy session" instead of "going out on the piss". I could aim for that distinguished look that works for some men, I could try to address my habit for comfortable clothes (or just going for stuff that fits more accurately) and try to adopt a more "youthful" style and prose. It all seems such a fecking waste of effort though. I mean why do all that, just to be ridiculed? Why bother when there's a marathon of cookery programmes on the food channel?

Funny thing is sometimes an answer comes straight to your door, which in my age of expecting things to be delivered to my door - to the extent where I'm paralysed with shock when I find out some take away or other doesn't deliver ("Look I'm perfectly aware that you are located a one minute walk from my frigging house, if I had that kind of energy then I wouldn't be phoning you I would be preparing this bloody meal myself") - is nice.

Jeff, it would appear, had spotted my advert for a new tenant posted on the internet. The last one, "Si", decided enough was enough and occasionally he'd like to walk on the lawn that he was paying rent to use, or occasionally be able to hold the remote control. It was clear that relationship wasn't going to work out. So in walks Jeff, his bags, a month's rent up front and a cocky air that immediately pissed me off. It's not right that someone can be the same age as me yet still manage to not only look half way attractive, stylish and interesting, but also that smug grin and swagger of someone who's sex life isn't revolving around pay per view television. Still money is money and I gladly accepted his cash.

Conversation was never my strong point, so it was hardly the most comfortable evening with Jeff sat there trying to engage me in trivial chit chat on music, books, theatre or clubbing, especially not when there was a documentary on an alleged cover-up of various UFO sightings.

"So Paul, what music do you like then?" The man even has the gall to stride around the room, searching cupboards, probably in the expectation of finding some CDs he can cast his "approving" eye over.

"I don't." I turn the volume up one notch.

"Books?"

"Nope." Volume up another notch.

"Theatre? Anything? Where do you go for a drink?"

"None of them either. Drink comes from the off licence who delivers." And another notch.

"You don't go out at all?"

"The garden. Oh and by the way don't stand on the grass, it's just had a feed so it needs time settle."

He moves over to the French doors in the living room to peer at the garden, in doing so blocking my view of the television. "It seems a little sparse to me. Maybe you should look at doing one of those gravel things? You know do away with the grass. Easier to handle and maintain and it wouldn't look so...so patchy."

"I like grass, and it's a work in progress. We've had a long dry summer so it's bound to be patchy. Now please just stay off the grass and move out of the way."

And so the days passed. Jeff managed to play music at all hours, entertain various girls until all hours usually after smirking as he introduced me as, "This is Paul, my landlord he likes gardening and lots of TV. Don't mind the smell and please don't step on the grass." On one occasion he even entertained one of the girls on the lawn, until four in the morning leaving an area of flattened grass and various divots which took me the best part of a day to set right. There were times when I couldn't order food because he was still on the phone and times I missed programmes because he was watching music television. Programmes I might add that were on my well-planned schedule only made worse by the fact that Jeff ignored the reminder that came up on the screen and he even had hold of the remote control for most of the night.

These may seem trivial to you, but then you probably don't understand, or maybe you do, but the fact is that I had invested serious time into certain TV series and his antics with the remote control meant I missed two episodes. Admittedly they were repeated at a later date, but then this clashed with other programmes so you see the vicious circle? Do you? Do you see what it meant?

So one sunny day in September, a month after Jeff moved in while he was bathing himself on the lawn on the same spot he always did, which was now brown, I decided he had to go.

I don't think I'll ever know what happened to my youth, or more importantly the energy and motivation I used to have in my youth, all I do know is that occasionally in some circumstances I get a drive from somewhere and a boost of energy. Take my lawn, not only is it the best in the neighbourhood, but it receives more care, time and attention than I ever remember giving to myself or any other facet of my life. Funny thing is that's all changed, thanks to Jeff I'm a new man.

The lawn looks great, well it would, this new feed I've found is working like nothing else. I call it Jeff-Feed (a supposed pun on Jeffery), ok I need to work on that, but the fact is that dried ground up Jeff offal and bones is working a treat, and I have enough supply to get me through to early winter.

He may have lay there on the lawn with his headphones on deliberately trying to get to me, but he never really expected the remote control to be stuffed down his throat as I held his nose. I have to admit looking into his eyes at that moment I honestly believe he understood why it was happening. That for some reason his refusal to accept his maturity and his lost youth had destined him to this point. Oh he flapped around for sure, punched me in the head and tried to grab my throat, but I think they were more instinct than any real sense of making me stop.

I'm even eating better too now. I hardly ever get a take away and have found inspiration to try some of the recipes from the television shows I've been watching. Stir-fry Jeff is my favourite as it's quick and nutritious with all those vegetables. If I have time I may do roast loin of Jeff, but my absolute speciality is Jeff Wellington. Add to this that I'm socialising more, I held a barbecue for the neighbours last weekend. All were very complimentary about my lawn and I even gave away a few scoops of my Jeff-Feed for them to trial. The Jeff burgers went down a treat, as did the Jeff kebabs, nobody really touched the Jeff Caesar Salad, but I think they were full from the burgers and kebabs.

Tomorrow's a new day in many ways as not only will I be trying to make Jeff Casserole, but one of Jeff's ex's is coming around. She's a nice girl who's still upset to find Jeff ran off without a bye or leave, but glad to have found me as a true friend. We'll probably go out, or maybe just sit in and listen to some of the CDs Jeff left behind. Funnily enough we won't watch any television, in fact I don't seem to watch that much television these days.

Sometimes the questions to life are more complicated than the answers themselves. What ever happened to my youth? The answer couldn't be simpler it's gone. Disappeared along with liking all new and obscure music thrown your way. Gone with enjoying loud, sweaty pubs and clubs where the sole aim is to find a companion to join you in an alleyway for a deep meaningful 10 minutes or so, it's gone people and that's all there is to it. Maybe there's a programme on the TV about it, "I Love Some Notably Crap Concept From When You Were Young, But We've Employed Tedious Comedians to Make Sarcastic Comments About Them" or something equally familiar, but then who needs to wallow in self-pity?

I always thought if I had the answers that'd mark the end of a purpose in life, but remember just because the answers are simple doesn't mean that everything must end. To most of you murder and cannibalism may not seem like an answer, it may even sicken you to some extent, but then filling my life with the banalities of the general run up to being middle age sicken me. I don't want to pretend I know about different wines, give money each month to charity, new coffee machines, current type of tomato that's trendy or any other aspect you've chosen to fill the gaps left by a diminished youth. I just want a nice health lawn and a good feed, no matter what it takes to get that.
So I must go, I've also a new prospective tenant coming around to view the place later, well Jeff was kind of skinny so he wont last forever.