It's my birthday in a couple of days.
I shall be <cough>
Sorry about that. A slight tickle in the throat.
I'm going to achieve the grand age of <ah-choo>
No, it's no good, I can't say it. They tell me I don't look my age. Mind, I can't easily see the grey hairs certain people have a habit of noticing on the sides of my head. I don't try too hard, either. But I try not to think too much about it either.
I remember working out, when I was a kid, just how ancient I'd be when the year 2000 arrived. Ancient, I thought. One foot in the grave, I thought. I was very, very wrong, but late thirties seems like a stone's throw away from long white whiskers, forgetfulness and reading the Daily Telegraph to anybody under ten; perhaps that's how it should be.
But why am I shy about it? The most formative years of my teens were spent listening to music that was, both spiritually and practically, revolutionary. I wasn't a proper punk, I suppose, given the apparent requirement for hard drugs for true appreciation, and I definitely got interested in the more experimental stuff that wound up being called "New Wave." (Although anything with swearing in it was always a bonus. Anyone remember "Johnny Won't Get To Heaven"?) Completely irrelevant, of course, to the age thing except that the moment I start remembering out loud the early days of The Sex Pistols (who were already past their best by the time they were at their most notorious) it's a bit of a giveaway.
I shall be 47, okay?
My MP3 player (I don't have an iPod, I've got more self-respect than that) is loaded with the music of my youth mixed liberally with the music of other people's youth and even quite a lot of modern stuff. (The oldest track on there is probably something by the Hollies or the Rolling Stones, the newest is probably by The Feeling. And there's a podcast or six but perhaps that's something that you have to be a bit crusty to get.
Anyway, my technophile nature has several desires for birthday presents -- things like a very portable hard disk caddy so I can stop worrying about the comparably limited lifespan of my thumbdrive, or a shiny new MP3 player that's got a bit more room for Stuff. But presents that are purchaseable by non-experts, non-geeky and reasonably affordable? Harder.
Roll on Saturday. Whatever else might happen, it'll be a good birthday because (a) it's at the weekend, (b) I can have a lie-in and (c) I'll be spending it with Bec.
I shall be <cough>
Sorry about that. A slight tickle in the throat.
I'm going to achieve the grand age of <ah-choo>
No, it's no good, I can't say it. They tell me I don't look my age. Mind, I can't easily see the grey hairs certain people have a habit of noticing on the sides of my head. I don't try too hard, either. But I try not to think too much about it either.
I remember working out, when I was a kid, just how ancient I'd be when the year 2000 arrived. Ancient, I thought. One foot in the grave, I thought. I was very, very wrong, but late thirties seems like a stone's throw away from long white whiskers, forgetfulness and reading the Daily Telegraph to anybody under ten; perhaps that's how it should be.
But why am I shy about it? The most formative years of my teens were spent listening to music that was, both spiritually and practically, revolutionary. I wasn't a proper punk, I suppose, given the apparent requirement for hard drugs for true appreciation, and I definitely got interested in the more experimental stuff that wound up being called "New Wave." (Although anything with swearing in it was always a bonus. Anyone remember "Johnny Won't Get To Heaven"?) Completely irrelevant, of course, to the age thing except that the moment I start remembering out loud the early days of The Sex Pistols (who were already past their best by the time they were at their most notorious) it's a bit of a giveaway.
I shall be 47, okay?
My MP3 player (I don't have an iPod, I've got more self-respect than that) is loaded with the music of my youth mixed liberally with the music of other people's youth and even quite a lot of modern stuff. (The oldest track on there is probably something by the Hollies or the Rolling Stones, the newest is probably by The Feeling. And there's a podcast or six but perhaps that's something that you have to be a bit crusty to get.
Anyway, my technophile nature has several desires for birthday presents -- things like a very portable hard disk caddy so I can stop worrying about the comparably limited lifespan of my thumbdrive, or a shiny new MP3 player that's got a bit more room for Stuff. But presents that are purchaseable by non-experts, non-geeky and reasonably affordable? Harder.
Roll on Saturday. Whatever else might happen, it'll be a good birthday because (a) it's at the weekend, (b) I can have a lie-in and (c) I'll be spending it with Bec.
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