If there is one certainty in life, it is that you're getting old. It is, by and large, a gradual process that goes unnoticed right up until the moment age comes up an kicks you round the face.
For me, this came yesterday evening following an enjoyable barbecue at the house of a friend. Walking home, Scaryduck Jr - who had spent the entire afternoon running about playing football - said that he was tired out, and "can I ride on your shoulders, Dad?"
Why yes, son, you may.
So I lifted him up. He is, unfortunately, no longer the cute, fluffy little toddler he once was, but a rather strapping eight-year-old. How those years fly by.
That noise, dear reader, was the elastic band that holds my head on snapping. I am, as they say, a raspberry ripple, up to my eyeballs on druqks, and have spent the last day manually operating my neck so my head doesn't flop about like a cheap Japanese action figure. I cannot look left or right without twisting - rather painfully - my entire body. I cannot drive, and my world record keepy-uppy attempt will, alas, have to be put off for another day.
And, come to think of it, I am unable to spend the day laying a new patio. Sorted.