Most people seem to hate getting older, but it's always struck me as something to celebrate, considering the alternative.
My Dad died at 48, so I guess this year will be equivalent to my 37th year - when I was young I was made aware that my lifeline pointed to me expiring at 36 - and I spent the whole year waiting for the inevitable. Of course, having cheated death once I shall spit in the eye of lucifer and I shall walk through the valley of the shadow of death (or as Woody said, "now I think about it, I shall run through the valley of the shadow of death").
In reality though, it's not the years, it's what you fill them with. My dad had three wives, and a million stories from living and working in Rio, Munich, Brussels, Stavanger, Los Angeles, Seattle, and of course Stillman Valley, Illinois.
I've worked in Stockport...
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About Me
- Gary
- In my twenties I was a failed poet. In my thirties I wrote a book on gambling which was very nearly published. In my forties I wrote a small book about moving from London to Shropshire, which remains unpublished. Into my fifties and the quest continues...
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