Week Forty-Three: 2022

I’m 66 on the 30th and become eligible for my old age pension. That makes me ‘old’ I suppose. I still prefer middle youth and I still decry the tyranny that says I’m really something abhorent as 66, whereas I feel more like 6+6=12. Late flowering, perhaps; surprisingly juvenile, more like. And then I wake up and find, overnight, my legs have set into strange surreal shapes and realise that I’m kidding no one. Gravity is pulling the once pert closer to the floor and my follicular management team continue to explore new venues from which hair can sprout having refused to renew the lease on the top of my head.

I bet they buy me slippers for my birthday, the sods.

I was with a similarly aged friend on Saturday and he plays hockey for England in his age group. Still plays cricket too, in the summer. I was reminded of my last game of cricket, during that discussion. I hadn’t intended to play – it was between my law firm and a client and I was their to glad hand the fee payers. But we were three short so I sort of agreed. Somehow I was sent into bat totally unprepared. If you don’t know cricket it is played with a seriously hard ball and one vital – no, scrub that, the vital – piece of equipement is the box with which to protect certain delicate elements, especially in the male nethers. Naturally I didn’t have one of my own… I had borrow someone else’s. I ask your understanding here, for what must seem somewhat gross but that’s amateur sport at its most visceral. The second issue with said box was that I was ill-prepared in the underwear department. Normally something taut and elasticated is worn to hold said box in its designated place. My undergarment of choice then as now was the baggy boxer, singularly inapt to retain a triangular platice protector.

When my turn came, it was apparenmt on the walk to the wicket that the box would migrate and, gravity being particularly potent in that region of suburban London, that meant the bloody thing slipped down one or other leg. Of necessity, before I even started to consider hitting the ball, I had to tuck my trousers into my socks and undertake a lot of adjustments, a lot of groin-grippage, if you like. As luck would have it, I was almost immediately joined in batting (two people alweays bat together) with a junior lawyer, Eve. She was, may still be a terriffic lawyer, person and sports woman. She was also not one to hold back from venuring an opinion.

Such as, ‘Do you have to do that?’

When I explained, as delicately as I could, my predicament she proferred a look that spoke to her incredulity and just a smidgen of pity that I was sufficiently unendowed that things wouldn’t stay up of their own accord. I also knew she would be the soul of discretion. The hell she would. I knew then it was time to retire from that particular fray, either that or invest in a truss.

It’s been a mixed bag of sports this wekend, if you’re an England supporter. We lost a final in the women’s rugby world cup, but won the male cricket. I find losing badly is the easiest, if often the most common condition. If the games are close and especially if it looks more likely than not that we might win I tend to stop breahting at tense moments. Self asphyxiation remains a significant risk.

Outside of that I was in the garden which is, frankly still very bonny. A lot of the summer plants are pretty exhausted – the dahlias, fr’instance are getting very tired – but some still find the energy to go on.

And Dog? And the Old Lady?

About TanGental

My name is Geoff Le Pard. Once I was a lawyer; now I am a writer. I've published several books: a four book series following Harry Spittle as he grows from hapless student to hapless partner in a London law firm; four others in different genres; a book of poetry; four anthologies of short fiction; and a memoir of my mother. I have several more in the pipeline. I have been blogging regularly since 2014, on topic as diverse as: poetry based on famous poems; memories from my life; my garden; my dog; a whole variety of short fiction; my attempts at baking and food; travel and the consequent disasters; theatre, film and book reviews; and the occasional thought piece. Mostly it is whatever takes my fancy. I avoid politics, mostly, and religion, always. I don't mean to upset anyone but if I do, well, sorry and I suggest you go elsewhere. These are my thoughts and no one else is to blame. If you want to nab anything I post, please acknowledge where it came from.
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39 Responses to Week Forty-Three: 2022

  1. Pam Lazos says:

    Very funny, Geoff.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Had to laugh out loud at Eve saying “Do you have to do that?” Be prepared for more joy as you move along the continuum, Geoff. 15 years from now you’ll look back at the age of 66 with some degree of longing.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. tootlepedal says:

    As Jonathan Miller said in ‘Beyond the Fringe’ it was a question of steeling yourself to the alien crutch. Did you score any runs? By the way, I can point out from my advanced standpoint that your best years are still to come.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Annoné says:

    Happy Birthday for the 30th. I suggest that you do what I do which is to start counting backwards. Of course it only works for so long. I informed a good friend this year that I was now 59 (again) only to be told that she was still 37. Of course I believed her……..

    Liked by 1 person

  5. A very strange occurrence in the WP space time continuum. See my Lovely Bloomers if you will:


  6. As an accountant I have long since written my birthdays off as depreciation

    Liked by 3 people

    • TanGental says:

      I had an actuary friend – yes, I’m that desperate for friendships – who tried to cheer me up with some statistic that having reached 60 without major illness, I was statistically likely to live 90. He became quite animated telling me. Simple pleasures, huh!

      Liked by 1 person

  7. Greg played cricket so I am well versed in those boxes and the underwear requirements. You were certainly ill prepared, Geoff.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. Ritu says:

    You do make me giggle, His Geoffleship! 😁

    Liked by 1 person

  9. trifflepudling says:

    It’s a State Pension! OA went out the window a while age, OAPer having become a term of insult, possibly!


  10. Mick Canning says:

    I thought you might have noticed the cricket…Your garden is still looking pretty good, I must say.


  11. Oh, I would have loved to have seen your box adjustment procedure on telly with Johnathon Agnew’s commentary. The Women’s rugby referee, despite being a Scot, had no alternative to issuing a red card, even though it sealed our team’s fate.


  12. willowdot21 says:

    You are still three years younger than me me Sir….but I shall rejoice that if you are twelve I am only fifteen!
    How do you manage to get yourself in to such a pickle ….was it an impromptu match or just lack of Malice or forethought?
    Garden looking good and the animals even better .


  13. You, Geoff, are but a young man. I’m not going to say how long ago I started my retirement, but you have SO many active years left to you! Buckle up!

    Liked by 1 person

  14. Happy upcoming birthday! I’m a few months behind you, John was (not) delighted to become a pensioner in April. It does seem unbelievable. Where did the years go?

    Liked by 1 person

  15. Widdershins says:

    Not having had men in my life, ever really, I find your stories to be a great source of information and entertainment about them. 😀 … I was well into my twenties before I understood, theoretically of course, the purpose of ‘athletic supporters’. 😀

    Liked by 1 person

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