Whoaaa there. I had to stop yesterday for a reality check.
Am I really sliding down the slippery slope to senility?
As a registered old fart, I find my outlook on life varies considerably from when I was a young, virile renegade with not a care in the world.
Recently, I planted some onions in a trough on the patio. So what's the big deal, you may ask? Well I actually make a point of everyday checking on the progress of said onions to admire my handiwork. I became quite excited upon seeing the first signs of growth.
"I became quite excited upon seeing the first signs of growth."
There lies my problem dear reader. Going orgasmic over some onions.
Oh where has that long haired, afghan wearing rebel gone to? The one who used to play progressive rock (70's heavy metal for the uninitiated) so loud it made your ears bleed, but at the same time piss off the old man. Who smothered himself in Petchouli oil to attract members of the opposite sex (it rarely worked as it smelt of cats piss). Who tottered around on dangerously high platform boots which would never pass Health & Safety in today's nanny state. And wore flares that you could house a family in - comfortably.
He's quietly residing in suburbia losing his teeth, hair and memory but getting his kicks out of growing veg. Alas, I fear there is no hope. 'cos I planted some peas yesterday and I can already feel the first tremors of exhilaration.