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?
TanGental 
Very funny, Geoff.
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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.
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I’m sure. I’m glad most things still function as the manufacturer intended.
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😊
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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.
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Marvellous news! Thank you for some upperking. Yes, I scored 4 very slow singles. In better news I took 2-24 in one over of very slow no-spin… I’m not sure my suggestion that the two wickets would slow the run rate after the first four balls disappeared over midwicket.
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I played cricket for a wandering team of business people for a summer season when I was young and took one wicket, scored one single and one four.
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Ah the glories of youth; do you dine out on your successes?
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I might mention it from time to time.
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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……..
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My mother’s ageing ground to a halt at 61. It worked for her.
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A very strange occurrence in the WP space time continuum. See my Lovely Bloomers if you will:
https://pollymermaid.wordpress.com/2022/11/14/lovely-bloomers/
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In certain circumstances that could be quite troubling…
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I thought, for a moment, I’d inadvertently stolen your photo!
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As an accountant I have long since written my birthdays off as depreciation
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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!
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Greg played cricket so I am well versed in those boxes and the underwear requirements. You were certainly ill prepared, Geoff.
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I really should have known better…
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😂
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You do make me giggle, His Geoffleship! 😁
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Just warn Not-So-Lil-Man what he has in store at the back end of his cricket career!
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Ha ha! Will do! 😁
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It’s a State Pension! OA went out the window a while age, OAPer having become a term of insult, possibly!
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I can’t think of it as other than another nail in the calendar, counting down to replacement hips, laxatives and dribbles into the cushions…
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Shudder…
Nah, you’ll always be a spring chicken!
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A rather damp spring these days…
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I thought you might have noticed the cricket…Your garden is still looking pretty good, I must say.
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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.
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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 .
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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!
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Yep. I’m in for the rollercoaster ride from here to my slippers
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Aww, I’ve been in my slippers for years!
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It’s coming to two feet I know
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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?
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Exactly; I must have put a few of those years with several biros and at least one set of car keys, though its only the years that have turned up as promised.
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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’. 😀
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Ah the mythical Jock strap. Never a pleasant experience
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Dangly bits are supposed to dangle (on either sex) not be trussed up like a chook waiting to go into the oven. 🙂
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Ah indeed but if you’re foolish enough to participate in sports the constant bobbling and clanking is more than irritating so a temporary trussing is crucial. In general though I agree!
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