It’s my party…

…. and I’ll have pie if I want to. A contemporary re-working of an eighties classic there which seems appropriate as I lurch unhappily into my fifth decade. Signs of aging were all around this morning – the air felt too cold, the coffee too hot and my stumbling assemblage of commuting collateral finished in broken zip and some choice swearing.

Apparently anxiety and grumpiness are all part of being middle aged according to the venerable beeb. Which is excellent news because a) this means it’s not my fault and b) misery loves company.

And then again, maybe not. Riding to the station this morning, sunnies on, green fields bathed in sky to sky blue, it occurred to me that it was a little chilly and being a klutz is my standard operational model. So maybe age is a state of mind rather than a state of physical or mental fragility.

Try as I might, I could not locate my inner grumpy and my mood improved further after having a rolling chat with the man who built and rides the bamboo bike. Refreshingly bonkers in the “because I can” engineering mindset and soon he’s to add a full suspension woody two wheeler to his copse of all things barking.

A quick inventory shows I still have most of my own teeth, a barnfull of expensive bikes and sufficient money to buy beer. That’s not a bad return for forty years of slacking so if this is as good as it gets, it’s good enough for me.

And to top it all, today was the first day I realised that Elvis’ and I share a birthday/deathday. So on that happy coincidence, Alex is leaving the building (but only to go to the pub). Uh-huh.

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