There’s no getting away from it – I’m getting old. I don’t just mean I’m getting older (which is obvious) …I mean I’m actually doing things that I would previously have thought were reserved for the occupants of a care home.
I can’t eat dairy products – they disagree with my digestion. I can’t have coffee after lunch time – I just won’t sleep. I no longer share the same bed as my wife (due to my snoring)….and she and I now have to compare diaries to see if we can have sex this month (that would be a ‘no’ then)…
Cars now pass me at ridiculous speeds… and I make ‘tutting’ noises and shake my head – this from the man that got himself banned for speeding…
I refuse that ‘last drink’ at parties – in fact come to think of it – when did I last actually go to a ‘party’…
So …that’s it then…slippery slope to the grave?
Do I have any redeeming features that mark me apart from the old farts that I so detest?
Well – I do cheat on my ‘Fitbit’.
Mrs. C encouraged me to get one of these intrusive devices after seeing that my brother and his wife were fans. This bloody thing tells you when to get up, when to sit down, when to relax, and the obvious …how many fucking steps have you achieved in a day.
You can link in with so called ‘friends’ and compare what you do and what you are achieving.
Unfortunately, my ‘perfect brother’ (think ‘Cousin Kevin’ by the Undertones) …does 75,000 steps a day on a quiet day and 1 f**k**g million when he’s in the mood to excel…
However – I have found a cheat.
Rapid wrist movements seem to fool the ‘Fitbit’ into thinking you are walking or running – so early one morning whilst watching the Australian Women’s beach volleyball on Sky TV …I managed 12000 steps …twice…. without even leaving the sofa.
I can’t be that old then?