Realizing you're older than the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, being treated by Doctors aged 10, not able to train through injury; all cliched signs that the years are catching up with me but the other week, an invitation dropping through the letterbox to my nephew's 30th birthday party this coming Saturday, really drove the message home.
Oh and one further clarification that you've definitely turned vintage is the total lack of enthusiasm when the reality dawns that it's not only fancy dress but a 'Bavarian' theme.
However, cajoled by Mrs. George whose imagination unfortunately matches mine, I managed to find the Costume Shop in Peel and with a stroke of luck brought about by my legendary lack of prowess at preparing the staff rota, I'd brought Adam in too early and we were able to dash out yesterday afternoon to try on and collect our costumes.
So it's lederhosen for me, this weekend and on hearing this news, my 13 year old son Terence to whom I am a continual source of embarrassment, immediately booked himself a trip to the National Cross Country on Saturday near Alton Towers to avoid the humiliation (actually that's a bit of artistic licence: it was already booked and paid for before we received the invitation but he's not too secretly pleased.)
Of course, yet another reminder of our time of life is the frequency of our nocturnal excursions and though usually, we are fortunate to go out once a month, we've also been asked to go to a 50th birthday party, the very same night. We may just call in to that afterwards (if the ravages of senility allow) but we might just have to change costume on the way.
Pictures to follow if uncensored.
Just to continue the theme, I just realised that I had posted this on the wrong blog. Oh dear, there's no hope.
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