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| Twenty Three | |
| By Snodlander | ||||||||||||||||||||
| 27 April 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||||
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I'm feeling old. And young at the same time. But mostly old. I emailed Saga. They have no plans to introduce cheap motorcycle insurance. It appears I am the only old fart on a bike. Twenty-Three A prime, and in my prime I froze, so that now, body preternaturally old, no longer prime meat, the imprisoned mind is still twenty-three. My belly has matured, like a nest-egg trussed in a trust. Interest over the years has added to its girth, fixed income, no opportunity to withdraw any of its capital, so that my prime mind has to haul it in when a woman enters the room. My hair, like my arches and shoulders, has sunk, so that the dome of my head thrusts through the ancient hairline, like a mountain top above the tree-line, grey snow-like hair giving scant cover. My eyes are still pulled by an irresistible force towards pretty women, my young mind cursing the delay whilst I find the spectacles the fifty-year-old eyes need. And when my eyes do not betray me, my mind does. “She’ll catch her death of cold,” it whispers in my ears. “Does her poor Dad know she goes out dressed like that?” My ears can no longer listen to the latest music. They yearn for real music, the sort that disappeared about the time that food became bland and hills became steep. My mind screams down the ghost of my father, refusing to repeat the mantra that echo’s down the generations. “This isn’t music, it’s just noise.” I loathe the company of my peers. They are old, every one of them. Twenty-three-year-olds tolerate my company, but I am lost upon the sea of celebrity names they trade. Their puzzled ‘who?’ when I blunder into the conversation embarrasses and shames me. How can anyone not know who Tommy Cooper is? Was? And so I retreat, tail between my legs, like so many years ago on the dance floor. The hundred mile walk of shame when I was rejected then as now. I return to my wife, whose body has also inexplicably aged, but whose prime mind still laughs coquettishly at my clumsy attempts to chat her up. Some things never change. Thank God.
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very close to my own random thoughts!
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