Is enjoying Kew Gardens a sign of accepting the fact that I’m getting old? Shouldn’t I be flicking through tattoo magazines, torn between the flaming skull and the Celtic symbols to cover my right shoulder? Or thinking about which Harley to buy, as I do yet another line of coke of the flat stomach of beautiful and expensive hooker, to sate my mini mid-life crisis.....no, instead I find myself saying “Hmmm, I didn’t realise rose bushes could grow this big....” and take yet another picture of a plant. Years ago all I would have been thinking, when looking at a plant was whether I could smoke it or not, mind you, I have always been fond of bushes.......
But I do Kew a disservice, I wasn’t dragged there kicking and screaming this weekend, and I genuinely enjoyed it. It’s a beautiful, calm place, and I had a youthful chuckle whilst taking a photo of cacti that looked like a bunch of green penises, but I’m easily pleased, by silly photos, not green penises.
It was afterwards sat in a lovely chilled out pub in Richmond, having an ale, that it struck me that there was a time when a day out in Kew would had been the last thing I would have wanted to do on a Saturday, unless I was trying to come across all mature and cultured in order to get a pretty girl naked. Have I given up the ghost, slipped into the dark night of middle age without a fight?
I have also noticed certain signs that I’m getting older. I need to put on my glasses to read the scales, I tried squatting down to look, but it just makes the wheel spin round so it appears I’m even heavier, and me squatting naked on scales, hairy belly sticking out, squinting at the reading, swearing and saying “that can’t be right!” isn’t a good look....you’re imagining it now aren’t you.
And my eyebrows! They seem to have a life of their own, I wake up with tousled eyebrows, crazy eyebrows, eyebrows you can run your fingers through, that have to be cut and beaten down, to stop me looking like David Hemmings from Last Orders!
At a recent doctor’s appointment I mentioned that the circle of lies that is my BMI calculator, showed I was overweight, he helpfully said muscle is heavier than fat which could give a false reading, but when I mentioned I hadn’t really exercised for six weeks, he said that the chances of a false reading were slim, unlike me.
All these self pitiful thoughts and observations could of course be because of the fact that am I only days away from hitting the big 4-0.
On a positive note, I am still cycling to work, and my times are improving, and as I stride manfully and sweating, in my cycling gear, through the office, I like to think the girls in the office are thinking, “Hey, he’s in good shape for his age” or “When did George Clooney start working in our building” and not “Blimey our bike courier service has really gone down hill......”
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