I turned 33 at the weekend, and I’m concerned.

It concerns me that I’m getting old. Not because of the grey hair or loss of bladder control (I’m quite looking forward to that), but because of my increasing inability to do things that I used to.

For instance: when I was a wee nipper (in the dim and distant past when a mobile was the shape, weight and had all the functionality of a house brick, and the internet was still being used solely by Matthew Broderick to start War Games) I used to cycle everywhere.

I fell completely in love with a girl who lived at the top of a hill, and cycled up there in an evening  without much fatigue or loss of breath. I used to cycle to work (when I went) and, god forbid, I used to cycle for fun. FOR FUN!!

Now, after many years of alcohol, cigarettes and inhalable vegetation I can’t so much as look at a bike without needing an oxygen mask.

But it doesn’t just stop at exercise.

When my weekends were for staying pissed for as long as possible, a night out started, STARTED, with a jug of vodka-Redbull; 8 shots of vodka, 2 cans of Redbull. After we’d warmed up on a jug each we’d get drinking for real.

8 vodkas and 2 cans of Redbull would do me for the week now.

How many more facets of my person are going to be abused by the ravages of age?!

How long before I don’t like cartoons anymore?
When will the Playstation cease to be a source of amusement?
When, for the love of god, when will porn become nothing more than a nostalgic tool for me to look at and go “I used to be able to do that”?

I have to go, I’ve just depressed the shit out of myself.

Tata