I can remember my dad being sixty.
I can remember thinking, bloody hell that’s old. I can remember thinking he looks old. I can remember thinking, I hope I die before I get that old.
And yet – here I am ….at sixty.
This should be considered a miracle mainly because:
1.I drink too much.
2.I eat too much.
3.I drive way too fast …and
4.I’m a complete stress head.
Note: drinking too much and driving too fast are not combined.
So …it is with certain element of surprise that I find myself writing this blog – not from beyond the grave…but from my cottage in the Peak District.
I can also confirm that I look like my dad did at sixty, as in …I look old.
I look sixty, I feel sixty …so it’s about time I started acting like sixty.
Unfortunately, it’s unlikely to happen any time soon.
I still retain my childish enthusiasm for cars with big engines and noisy exhausts.
I still tweak and modify every car I own so that they maximise every ounce of power available.
I still wake up every day like it’s my last day on earth and try and get as much out of it as I can.
I still read as much as I can on a huge range of topics from new authors to classics.
I still listen to people – whether they be older or younger – and if they have something to say or something to recommend – I will try anything once.
I’m open to new challenges.
I do 10,000 steps a day.
I have two great daughters.
I have a lovely wife.
I have a dog.
I smell nice (so I’m told by my wife)
So….maybe sixty is the new 50 or 40 or whatever …. either way it’s just a number.
Here’s to the next 40 or so continuing in the same vein.
NB. no flowers – please send money to the Mike Clough Benevolent Fund for saving loose women.