Getting older and grumpier

I was out leaving the sprog at his place of gainful employment (or as he likes to think of it "the place where I gets beer vouchers ") . Now I live (and the sprog works) near the sea and today is a tad on the blowy side of windy. There are lovely big breakers and I paused on the way home and took these piccies on the camera-phone-email-sms-microwave-toaster-thingie that I happened to have in my pocket.

Now it used to be that were I to see a sea like this I would be off like a rocket to find my chums yelling "'mon lets get the bolloxs wet" which is the Norn Iron equivalent of "surf's up"
and today was no exception. EXCEPT the initial thought was then suffixed by "it's really a bit cold" and "there is no way in god's green earth I will ever get into my wet suit"

Truth be told the last time I was in my wet suit was PS (pre-sprog) infact it was PN (pre-nuptuials) which was rather more years ago that I care to admit.

Having just last week had a birthday it was suddenly apparent that I have slid into a new era of life's journey. I am now an official grumpy middle aged man :) 'Cept I can't really put a finger on exactly when the transformation from rugby playing, surfing, canoing urbane, erudite man of the world into (slightly) chubby, wrinkled grumpy f****r occurred.

I find myself agreeing with op-ed's that decry the fecklessness of youth and their predilection for the high-life thinking to myself "they don't know they are living, we had to get up at 4:30am lick gravel..." etc. I am sure this is just jealously probably engendered by the fact that whilst I was never what could be described as "a young girls dream" I am now so far removed from that particular paradigm that no amount of listening to DJ Tea-N-Toast-0 or My Chemical Toilet is going to help. ~sigh~ and the hope that I might be a toy-boy-plaything for some ultra rich widow who would keep me in the type of motorcycle to which I could become accustomed is as likely as Workplace being voted application of the decade.

Och well, it's the weekend, no work and the prospect of a bit of a splurg out this evening at the local noodle bar with the rest of the Mc Donagh clan will make my disappointment at looking like the Michelin Man's fatter second cousin in my wet suit easier to bear.

Singapore Noodles here I come!

PS I actually quite like DJ Tiesto and I can listen to My Chemical Romance without having an emo-philatelic episode.