FORTY
On July 28th I turn forty. Bloody hell. Mostly I think it doesn’t bother me particularly, but then in darker moments … I think perhaps it does. Stupid, as it’s just a number really, a measure of time, and as the saying goes, ‘Time is Nature’s way of keeping everything from happening at once’. Although right now, it does feel like everything is happening at once … my wife and I are having to arrange a half hour window a week next Tuesday to say Hello to each other.
Still, it’s a good excuse for an ale. This Saturday my two best mates and their good ladies will be joining us for the day. Might even pop them up to the Goose & Cuckoo. In a couple of weeks my brother and sisters, along with their families, are converging on Goytre for a quiet, civilised afternoon and evening in a local pub. Then on my birthday, Tracey and I are going out for a meal. A week later, I’m off to Wilton (near Sailsbury) for a couple of days as a joint celebration, as my aforementioned two best mates and I all hit 40 within ten days of each other. And how weird is that?
Tracey says I’m making a big deal of this turning 40 lark. I don’t think so. A big deal would be to buy a motorcycle, get my ear pierced, and have an affair with an eighteen year old Swedish student. And everyone knows I’m scared of needles.
So excuse me while I make the most of the next 20 days …
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