My first blog – awesome! You’d think that
at my age I should be a little more prolific in my blogging, but at my age I
should also be able to climb a flight of stairs without panting and sit down
without passing wind, but hey!
Age can be a terrible thing, a formidable
foe in a war against my vanity! My face and stomach both traitors to the
attempt to conceal my years and victims to the friendly fire of excess and late
nights. I haven’t yet bought my Harley-Davidson man-pram, but even if I do I
doubt I’d be able to squeeze both mannery glands into the faux-fade leatherette
biker’s jacket.
To add insult to pending frailty, I have a
receding hair-island balancing precariously at top-centre and the bags under my
eyes have to be removed when I fly because they’re too big to fit in the
overhead storage bins. I suffer from ‘aged-middle’ spread, so much so that I
once decided to wear a ‘strap-it-in’ reinforced elastane vest to stop the waves
whilst performing on stage. However, this only served to compact the excess to
a tubular shape, much like being swallowed by a short anaconda, and when I
danced my fat performed like a barrel on braces. It would have been funny had
my love-handles not made a desperate attempt to escape into the seat of my
trousers, giving the ever-lingering impression that I’d shat myself. Oh, the
joy!
So, what to do? My ever-supporting better
half, who affectionately calls me ‘Bubble’, has suggested everything from diets
to work-out routines in order to keep me in shape. The only shape I’ve been
able to keep thus far is that of a skittle, and not the type you roll balls at.
You see, I’ve been in denial! I didn’t wake
up one day being old and wobbly, it took time and dedication! I had ignored the
signs, the laughing of the younger men, the screaming revulsion of the ladies
as I unclipped my girdle. I remember a conversation I had whilst doing the
Rocky Horror Show, with the actor playing Rocky. As he stood in the dressing
room, adorned in his gold skin-tight shorts and matching body paint, he asked
if he was looking a little soft. I assured him that he looked fine, adding that
if he was embarrassed about his body shape he could simply wrap his butt-cheek
around his face to hide the blushing. ‘Yes, it’ll come to you all’ I muse as I
frown down on the young crowd through my cleavage.
It was time to wake up and smell the
chocolate. I tried the pencil test, but on lifting my right buttock I found the
Ikea pencil I lost last time - along with a sweet wrapper and a scatter cushion.
I daren’t look under the other buttock! Something had to be done.
So I’ve done what all self-deprecating
dillussionists do - sought to change my entire life! I’ve left my job in London
And the future, outside of Google Universal
Search, Twitter implants and the security of Tena-Men? At my age I think I’ll do some
deskercise – strengthen my mind and wrists through typing, and leave vanity to
the young! Bastards!
