A nice cup of tea and a meerschaum pipe

I have spent a significant portion of my adult life determinedly refusing to grow up. I have seen what being an adult does to people, and I want as little to do with it as possible.

My determination is evidenced, even up here in The Tower, by the fact that in my computer room, I have a sideboard adorned with a bunch of "collectible" statuettes: two Miracleman, one Superman (golden age), an Invisible Woman and a classic Iron Man. I also have two yellow submarines and a number of die-cast tanks. The bedroom is worse, with a quite extraordinary range of other ephemera, including the most recent addition to my TARDIS collection.

Imagine, then, the horror of the realisation that in addition to physical middle age, which I cannot prevent, that I am entering mental middle age.

This realisation was brought on earlier this afternoon when I realised that having watched a re-run of Wallace and Gromit in A Grand Day Out (not in and of itself an indicator of middle age, I hope), I watched Cash in the Attic directly afterwards and have done so most weekends recently. The fact that I am looking forward to the Antiques Roadshow later this afternoon is further evidence, though I am not quite sure where Scrapheap Challenge fits in the scheme of things...

In trying to redress the balance, I have watched two episodes of the original Captain Scarlet from the '60s on DVD. The trouble is, that even this has overtones of middle aged nostalgia. Maybe I should download a few torrents of the new CGI series...?

I have decided to rebel against the onset of mental middle age by leaving the pile of partially-read comics strewn across the bedroom floor for another week, and so avoid hoovering and dusting, too.

Now, if I can just remember not to wear the comfy slippers and nice warm cardy while I am watching Jericho this evening, I might feel that I am part way to succeeding in staving of the ravages of time.

Lordy.

If this continues, I shall be curled up in a foetal position cuddling my leather pilot jacket and trying not to dream of tweed...

A nice cup of tea and a meerschaum pipe

I have spent a significant portion of my adult life determinedly refusing to grow up. I have seen what being an adult does to people, and I want as little to do with it as possible.

My determination is evidenced, even up here in The Tower, by the fact that in my computer room, I have a sideboard adorned with a bunch of "collectible" statuettes: two Miracleman, one Superman (golden age), an Invisible Woman and a classic Iron Man. I also have two yellow submarines and a number of die-cast tanks. The bedroom is worse, with a quite extraordinary range of other ephemera, including the most recent addition to my TARDIS collection.

Imagine, then, the horror of the realisation that in addition to physical middle age, which I cannot prevent, that I am entering mental middle age.

This realisation was brought on earlier this afternoon when I realised that having watched a re-run of Wallace and Gromit in A Grand Day Out (not in and of itself an indicator of middle age, I hope), I watched Cash in the Attic directly afterwards and have done so most weekends recently. The fact that I am looking forward to the Antiques Roadshow later this afternoon is further evidence, though I am not quite sure where Scrapheap Challenge fits in the scheme of things...

In trying to redress the balance, I have watched two episodes of the original Captain Scarlet from the '60s on DVD. The trouble is, that even this has overtones of middle aged nostalgia. Maybe I should download a few torrents of the new CGI series...?

I have decided to rebel against the onset of mental middle age by leaving the pile of partially-read comics strewn across the bedroom floor for another week, and so avoid hoovering and dusting, too.

Now, if I can just remember not to wear the comfy slippers and nice warm cardy while I am watching Jericho this evening, I might feel that I am part way to succeeding in staving of the ravages of time.

Lordy.

If this continues, I shall be curled up in a foetal position cuddling my leather pilot jacket and trying not to dream of tweed...