Yesterday while driving around, I listened to a news talk type show with people phoning in with their opinions about the day’s events.
An old-sounding bloke phoned in and started talking at some length about his son’s doctor appointment and all the logistics around that. In a croaky but upbeat voice, he took a very long time to get to the point of his call. The point being that he wanted to share a joke in a cartoon that he had read in a magazine while he was waiting for his son.
He said that the cartoon was of a delivery suite and of a doctor saying to a newborn baby “welcome to the rat race!”. Old bloke roars with laughter to polite cod-chuckling from the far-too-polite but bored rigid presenter.
FFS. Is that it? Reader, it took about 5 minutes of blathering to get there. Also the lengthy murmurings while he tried to recall the names of people that didn’t matter to the story.
But do you know what made it worse? The presenter asked his age and he said he was in his mid-50s!
In my time, countless solitary old men in pubs have talked to me and this is very much the kind of shaggy dog story that they might bend my ear with. Note that such stories are shared without reference to context or as a natural part of a conversation. It’s all one way traffic – anything you might say is mere noise, while they carry on regardless. I am sure you know the kind of thing.
But yes, these are lovely old codgers and they do no harm, surely? Up until yesterday I would have agreed but it seems like I am reaching an age where they are beginning to be my contemporaries.
What happens to men as they get older? Why does their sense of humour turn to shit? Is that going to happen to me? Oh God…
Sounds to me like you’re mixing with the wrong oldies.
Boring people do tend to get more boring as they age. Interesting people often get more interesting. Leave the former to bore each other and seek out the latter.
I love that! Going to use that.
I’ll bore people with it.
That’s the way.
Have I told you about my operation yet?
HYYNYYYYUURRRRGHHH!!
That sound doesn’t mean anything, I was just getting up out of my chair.
By coincidence, that was also James Brown’s ‘getting up’ sound.
He was getting up because he felt like a sex machine.
I’m getting up because I feel like a bread machine.
And mine when I’m getting up on the bad foot.
These days it’s even my sitting up in bed sound.
I’m ninety-six you know…
It were all Dansettes ‘ere when I were a lad!
Do I come here often? I think it’s your round.
Nurse! He’s out of bed again!
There are two types of people, those that call phone-ins and those that don’t …
Pardon? I heard that….
“Taking a very long time to get the point” isn’t a problem for me.
Quite the opposite, if anything.
Have you considered therapy?
Well, the trouble is…
– ach, there it goes again!
Sorry about your sofa.
Corporal Parkinson. Pardon?
I am now 57.
I went to the doctors today following two recent, unexplained pains in each foot. I am told I have gout. Gout! Gout is something other people get, is it not?
Gout is an affliction suffered by overweight, beef guzzling, wine and port snaffling well-to-do’s. Apparently not so.
My blood pressure is normal, my weight is normal, my waist is 33/44 inch, I am “in fine health” according to smiling Dr Smarmy B’stard.
The most humiliating affliction, in the opinion of Dr B’stard, is that I am now “late middle age”.
How can this be? Why, I am still yet to be a rock star.
33/44 inch…. allowiing
(Uh? couldn’t delete that!)
33/44 inch…. allowing for seasonal fluctuation, I see!
(it shood of sed)
Edith Fnuction is misbehaving today.
She’s been at the Brasso again.
Ah – I see. 33/34 inch.
I really must stop typing on an iPhone or, as I’ve just discovered, turn it sideways.
I was diagnosed with gout at the ripe old age of 24. At that point, I’d never drunk port, a tiny amount of wine, only ate beef in a 1 in 4 Sunday roast rotation and was a short streak of of piss. Now I’m Much less of a streak of piss and 46.
Turns out the bastard gout gene (and the pain IS far far worse than childbirth) is hereditary from the male side of either parent. Given Dad doesn’t suffer from it, the blame here lies squarely with the bastard Welshies on Mum’s side who also handed down male pattern baldness. She thinks this is hilarious and the Welsh way of getting back at the English. Thanks Mum!
Morello cherries, lots of water, allopurinol, cider vinegar and Voltarol are your new best friend. Not at the same time.
Thank you Mr S Dog. I was about to begin my search for alternatives to my (generally) healthy diet. Morello cherries sound like a good place to start.
In Advocaat presumably?
Absolutely!
I’ve learnt the differing triggers and foods that set mine alight and try to avoid as far as possible. Yeast is a big one for me. Marmite, heavy beer (stouts, bitter, some ales), dense and dark red wines, some (but not all) shellfish – mussels being the worst by far – bread generally a bugger, spinach, mushrooms generally a no go. Sometimes beef sets it off
Sometimes all of these are fine and the bastard Uric acid stores up in the kidney and once every six months unleashes a torrent of pain to an unsuspecting joint south of the hips. Knees, ankles, toes have all felt the wrath of Captain Gout.
Tart morello cherries are very good. The cider vinegar drink is excellent. 1 tsp of Aspalls cider vinegar, two spoons of honey and a squirt of lemon juice in a mug with boiling water, eases the pain and I’m told it’s a preventative factor too. Feel the twinge have a drink and an anti inflammatory and it might stave it off.
Good luck brother!
Moose, I should have anticipated any measure of, well anything actually, would have engaged your enthusiastic interest.
I will therefore not mention Dr B’stards comments on ‘girth’.
Oh no.
Quite.
In deference to the AW demographic, you could have said 33/45.
Arf.
But surely not. Exaggeration.
I retain a mental image of the typical Afterworder as not far removed from a skinny, late teenage, angry arsehole.
Although now, with the benefit of received wisdom, in the early stages of losing their marbles.
Angry arsehole…. yes, we have all fallen victim to the Rockfords.
I liked him in Rose Tattoo though. And that song ” Suddenly! ” what a tear jerker that was, especially when Kylie threw the bouquet and Mrs Mangel caught it in her bra!
Nothing to do with age – I know people in their 20’s with the personality of a cardboard box who know nowt. My next door neighbour is 86 – will never win a marathon but has really great stories.
Agree. I knew people at college who became middle aged in year 2 the minute they moved into a flat, boring on about chunky cut marmalade etc.
http://i1100.photobucket.com/albums/g401/mikethep/robert-de-niro-meme-generator-you-talkin-t-me-d78e73_zps0t5qb3v6.jpg
What happens to old men?
Well, we tell the same stories over and over again, because we can remember them.
We get up several times in the night to do a wee
Our children turn into lovely brilliant sensible adults (if we’re lucky – I am) of the sort that we wished we could have been when we were that age if only we…
Oh hello Edith, you’re back, good to see you. Let me tell you about the time I tried to post a clip of Frank Zappa and Pink Floyd, it were like this you see, I was looking at the interweb and….hey come back….
^^ Up (up and away). You win the internet today M.
Old men don’t die, or fade away, they just spend all their time chuntering away on The Afterword.
I don’t chunter.
I blather and I gripe. Sometimes I wibble, but I never chunter!
I’m in training to be an old man, but I’m trying to keep my aimless witterings to a separate blog this year – it’s as much an online diary as a blog, such is the negligible traffic to the site. But thank the lord I’m not foisting my dull words on this site.
My theory about rambling rosey nosed old geezers, and why we tend in that direction is that by the time we get old, we’ve lived a long time (no!) and a lot of stuff has happened to us. Not all of it interesting to anyone else, but it defines who we are. For that to be meaningful or validating, it’s important to get it ‘out there’. So those who have always liked the sound of their own voice are joined by those formerly quiet types who feel the need to say what they’ve always wanted to say and have increasingly less and less concern about social niceties, but unfortunately not the learned or ingrained self awareness to know when to stop.
(Keeps on going in the same vein for another 1000 words, but somehow deletes the r
“those who have always liked the sound of their own voice are joined by those formerly quiet types” You’re onto something here. I’ve always been fascinated by these sort of social dynamics. Quiet people are probably guilty of withholding far to much wisdom.
Likewise I’m fascinated by the converse… opposites of myself really. Loud unfashionable rebel types. Dylan for example.
(In order through the decades)
ruff folk music – boo!
electric band – boo!
Christ – boo!
terribler than terrible singing voice – boo!
old standards – boo!
and so on.
O this so really helps with my psychological preparation for hitting 60 n/w. Fecking great, thanks, guys….
I hit 50 the week after, and to be honest have been struggling with it a bit. If it’s any consolation knowing that there are others who are worse off has made me feel better. Cheers doc!
If its any consolation, by GP told me recently that I’m a young person. His reasoning was that as many people alive today will live to be 100, 52 is not old, or even middle aged. I felt pretty good about that and only realised later that it was his way of telling me to stop whining about my aching back, knees, liver and heart and go out and buy a motorbike or something.
Mr B has a big birthday coming up this weekend, and is feeling decidedly glum about it at the moment. Of course once he’s been showered with gifts and affection he’ll feel much better (at least I bloody hope so).
It’s my birthday today and I’m spending it on my own in a Premier Inn. Sniff
:’-(
Happy birthday, Twang. Listen to Little Feat and drink whisky if you don’t have any company.
Oh Christ, don’t do that, Twang. You’re supposed to feel cheerful on your birthday, not suicidal 🙂
Many happy returns, me old china.
Thanks Mini but I am with Tig on this. I think that’s an excellent suggestion.
Each to their own!
Many happy returns Twang. Try to enjoy the day and don’t dwell to much on the ‘old men’ theory posed in the OP.
I’m impervious to ageist generalisations.
Oh, swipe me!
Paul Kelly, the Australian singer-songwriter of some standing says that when he and his brothers get together theyve got 5 minutes to discuss aches and pains and that’s it.
That’s a great idea. If it could include football and family members I haven’t seen in 20 years this would be good for interactions with my father.