On having a bit of a mid-life crisis
My brother turned 40 on Sunday.
"Happy Birthday Scarybrother," I say, late as usual.
I stood, admiring my chiseled good looks in the bathroom mirror this morning, contemplating this event, and the fact that I am 41-going-on-42.
And what is it, I ask myself, I want out of life?
I've already got three pairs of carpet slippers (one pair of which I keep in the back of my car 'just in case', along with a tartan blanket and a tool kit, also 'just in case').
I've also got a sensible zip-up cardigan from Marks and Spencer and a pair of open-toed sandals that would look great with knee-length socks.
And there, far too close to the front of the bathroom cabinet for my liking - a tub of Brylcreem and a tube of Anusol.
So. Bathroom mirror. Chiseled good looks. Half-used tube of cream for the Nobbies. What more could a man ask for at this stage of his life?
Answer: One of those little electric clippers for ear and nose hair.
It has started. The turn-into-a-middle-aged-apeman gene has activated.