Wednesday, 6 May 2009

Chin Up

My father would scoff and refer to me as still being wet behind the ears if he knew I was lodging the following complaint: I am getting old. I know I am only thirty-one (my thirty-second birthday feels like it is racing up from the murky depths of its December lair like a toilet blockage travelling the wrong way) but something sobering dawned on me the other day, as I caught myself staring disapprovingly at a teenager’s garish pair of Nike trainers that had flopped down nonchalantly on the bus seat adjacent to mine – my life is now measurable in decades. Sure, you could look back through a nostalgic selection of childhood photos at your twenty-first birthday and proudly consider your two decades of existence, but who really remembers having life unceremoniously spanked into them by a midwife? Who can honestly recall the joy of massaging mashed pumpkin and sweet potato with chubby fingers to a parent’s dismay? And who can deny that the continuous blur from age five through to fifteen is broken only by beacons of growing up such as your first stitch, bike, kiss, and precious pubic hair? My point is I can now recall two distinct decades of existence and am well into the third. The prime of my life some might say, but I beg to differ. And here’s why.

Firstly, when I shave I am no longer confronted by the challenge of having to navigate the razor around the sharp cliff edge of my chin down to my neck. This was always a problem area, normally resulting in a collection of nicks and cuts as the blade inevitably clashed with the knife-edge angle of my youthful jawbone. Now, I am pleased to say, the blade cruises languidly down my cheek and eases all the way down my neck without encountering disruption, and this is all due to the development of a substantial soft jowl otherwise known as my chin’s double.

Secondly, between the hours of about 10pm and 5am you will normally find me lying in a variety of different angles and positions twisting sheets and duvets into knots around my limbs and neck, searching for that elusive pleasure I once referred to in my youger days as sleep. In my teens it was something I would always look forward to as the day drew to a close, knowing that it would last through to early morning if it was a school day, or through to a time that suited me if it was a weekend. Now, however, it seems the only time I am able to muster up the need for sleep is when I am as far away from my bed as possible, in the middle of the day, in a situation where alertness is essential; commuting, reading, cinema, grocery shopping, haircut, you name it, I’ll sleep through it. I can snore my way through a hurricane, provided its arrives around lunchtime. I can often be found snoring my way through the cereal section in the supermarket, can you imagine how I shut down when I reach the cool of the meat fridges?

Thirdly, I have one word for you: Twitter. I am no expert in the tech world, let alone the social networking environment, but this is one concept that has floated straight over my head. On a serious note I believe Twitter is a major milestone in the virtual, computer, internet and technology age because it has split the population. It’s safe to say that the majority of people in the western world have a computer with internet, or have access to one, but what Twitter has done is drive a clear wedge between those who have 24-hour access, and those who don’t. Those who have, and indeed demand, eternal, mobile, fast, and comprehensive access to the internet are now in a world of their own, separated from those who use a computer once in a while for emails, news, photos and the odd YouTube clip. Where before the defining line was between those who could use a computer and those who couldn’t, it is now between those who connect when they need to and those to whom being connected is part of life. I have a computer with no internet access, and my mobile phone is about three years old. It’s not aged, but it’s not young and vibrant with all the features of the modern-day handsets. In a sense, it’s much like its owner; by no means past it, but by no means with it.

I hope that when the sun does eventually start setting on me in the future I will retain a similar sense of humour to the elderly gentleman I overheard on the train yesterday. He got chatting to a lady opposite him, who had a cowering four-year-old hiding behind her arm. He enquired how old the lad was and suggested that when he was that age himself he was still being breastfed; “If you’re onto a good thing, don’t give it up,” was his rationale.

I’m not sure the poor kangaroo I encountered on the golf course the other day was onto a good thing. I complained about the lack of kangaroos recently, only to come across huge herds of them relaxing on the fairways of Capel Golf Club. They were all going about their business nibbling shoots of grass, nuzzling joeys - all but two of them. I can only describe it as kangaroo rape. It was a horrific sight and not one my cousin and I were happy to see. A huge male had in his grasp a female with a joey in her pouch and was having his way in a most violent and assertive fashion. She was bleating and barking, prompting us to intervene, and when we did she scurried away for the safety of her herd. I’m sure it was nature taking its course and that we probably shouldn’t have disturbed them, but I honestly believe she was grateful. I wish I could blame the quality of my golf on this harrowing experience, but I can’t.

I have received complaints recently about the length of my blogs, so I will make a concerted effort to shorten them. Suits me. I need a snooze anyway.

1 comment:

Robbo said...

Nice... Not too long, I can't believe people have complained about the length of your posts. The only complaint I have is that your Australian audience does not relate to the word DUVET... I have reached the conclusion that a blog is the modern equivalent of the crazy man on the corner ranting away. Potentially a huge audience with only very few listeners. A bit like my job really.