David Moseley

Ageing disgracefully

2013-10-01 12:19

David Moseley

Before I started writing this, I noticed that my 5-month-old puppy was snoozing happily on the patio in the mid-morning sun.

"This," I thought to myself while stifling guffaws, "is crying out for a photo." Rummaging through the bin, I found three empty Castle Draught cans (just kidding, I quickly drank three Castles), placed the empties strategically around Rocket's head, snapped away and sent the picture and text reading "Rocket, pissed again" to the family.

As I sat down I thought, "That was hilarious, now, back to serious stuff, like writing columns for humourless folk to comment on."

Then I had another thought. It dawned on me that, at the age I’m turning on Saturday, my dad had a 9-year-old child - me, of course - and a 5-year-old, my brother (and probably a few more roaming the Angolan border. Though, if truth be told, my brother has red hair and ferocious ginger beard, like no one else in the family. So perhaps my mother is the one that has some explaining to do. Over to you in the comments section, mother).

I wondered thoughtfully while stroking my greying beard and chuckling at Rocket lying unawares of the empties in her bed, was my dad, at the age I am today, watching sleeping children lie and thinking "this scene is just crying out for some empty beer cans"?

You can't fight the ravages of time

Knowing my father, he probably was. On that note, it terrifies me think that my parents were allowed to have children at such a young. My dad was 25 when I was born. When I was 25 my biggest decision in life was whether I should purchase FIFA 2005 or Pro Evolution.

Age, of course, ain't nothing but a number. And a number of other clichés, like, you're only as old as you feel, you're only as old as the person you're feeling (in which case, I'm still in my 20s) and so on.

Those sentiments may be true, but you just can't fight the ravages of time when it comes to the way you look or the way your body creaks.

Not that I care too greatly (it's hard to be despondent when you're this handsome), but just the other day I wiped away the steam from the bathroom mirror, only to find a frightful face looking back at me. Hoping that it was an evil spirit sent to consume my soul, I quickly realised it was just my increasingly rubbery-looking face.

After recovering from the shock, and opening and closing the medicine cabinet behind the mirror more than a few times to see if a demon head could fit in there, I carried on shaving with a heavy heart.

My eyes looked more sunken while the grey flecks on the edge of my hair were now officially grey with flecks of hair. My ears, I noticed, were drooping rather wearily and quite obviously sporting the hair that has been migrating ever so diligently from my hairline.

Just the other day...

Even my beard showed telltale signs of salt and salt, hold the pepper. Incredibly, my back creaked a little more that morning. Everything came crashing down in harmony, like a kitchen full of electrical appliances with the same expiry date.

“What happened?” I thought. Just the other day I was 21. Just the other day I was 30. Just the other day I had no pain in my back, knee or shoulder. Just the other day I could brush my teeth without worrying that my back would seize.

Just the other day I could get out of bed without going "Aooohhhh". Just the other day I didn't care if the pillows complemented the colour scheme of the lounge? Just the other day I didn't have a puppy that I could terrorise with my youthful exuberance."Rocket? Rocket. Come here. Look, look at this beer can..."

- Follow @david_moseley on Twitter.

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