Must Be My Age

I think it's fair to say that when it comes to friends, I'm not a keeper. I don't do the regular calls, emails, IM, letters, none of that stuff. Probably why over the years they've all drifted away. I'm sure I'm not alone in blokedom (specifically married blokedom) in most, if not all my friends being fathers of my childrens' friends, or more precisely, husbands of the mothers of my childrens' friends. this is important as it is the wives who befriend each other and we get to make do with the spouses. Not to insult my friends, many of whom, if they hadn't been chosen for me, I may well have picked, or at leat allowed them to pick me!

So why, if I have such a cavalier attitude to friendship, do I get excited these days when I hear from friends from the bowels of ancient history?

Is it that I'm regretting a youth long gone, of which I have few reminders? Is it that my life has a void which religion and politics failed to fill, and sport just isn't enough anymore?

Probably, it's the spectre of mortality reminding me constantly of promise unfulfilled in a life hurrying by. It's a bit like a theme park ride. Queue for hours for it to start then the excitement goes by in 30 seconds of adrenaline rush and then there's the long ride home through the M25 roadworks. At least I've got the radio on in the car and it's playing a Josh Rouse retrospective.

Morbid? Maybe. Self-pitying? Oh God, yes!

But am I happy. Quietly, yes, thank you for asking!

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