Thursday, 24 November 2011

On visibly ageing

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, reduced my sugar intake and started using moisturiser. I’ve embarked on the search for a new career, or to re-kindle an old one, and I’ve re-found the wonders of writing and t’interweb, more specifically, as you can see, blogging!

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!