The good stuff.

This is what I REALLY look like - honest!

If, as I hope (and, by the way, a pox upon you if I'm wrong), you've been following my journey/embarrassing meander into and through middle age, you will know that I'm ALL about balance. Who just snorted at the back of the room?
Yes, balance. Balance is the main reason (I have successfully convinced myself) why I have grown this enormous, room-filling belly. It's in order to provide a counter-weight for my genetically vast buttocks. Yes, that must be what's happened, alright.

In the interests of balance, therefore, I have decided to do a counter-post to my previous one; a post which highlights the advantages of being a man of my age, temperament, size and baldness.

It is for example, quite wonderful that:

• people at home and at work now expect me to have missed a few whiskers here and there when I shave.
• I can ignore annoying little shitheads when they speak to me, and plausibly pretend to have simply not heard them.
• I can wear more than two pairs of spectacles at one time (one on my nose, the other perched upon my head) and not arouse any questions as to why I am doing so.
• my trousers/jeans can be any shape I want them to be (baggy, tight, snug, etc.); so long as I am not exposing myself - nobody cares any more.
• I can - in fact I have few choices left - now wear shorts that look like the bottom of each leg has a wire hoop inside it.
• young women (with whom, I must confess, I very rarely have any contact) no longer regard me as a viable member of the male gender, and therefore, as any kind of threat/potential creep - this makes everyday conversation much less stressful on the infrequent occasions that it occurs.
• I no longer have to engage in silent speed competitions with any little rip-shit in a blinged-out Honda/Nissan/Subaru who has the temerity to overtake me on the highway. I can instead allow him to perpetuate his illusion that he is a better driver than me, hahahahaha - oh, the hilarity.
• underwear is simply underwear...it is for wearing underneath my one-size-fits-all elasticated waist jeans/cargo pants/khakis, and serves absolutely no other purpose whatsoever.
• I can make as much noise as I want when I sit down into, or get up from, anything lower than a bar stool.
• I can take a nap at any time of the day without having to explain why I'm tired.
• My doctor describes me as 'strapping' rather than 'a shambling, pathetic excuse for a man of your age'.
• I know what I'm having for breakfast every day: two blood pressure tablets, one cholesterol tablet, and a big chunk of insulin. No troublesome choices are necessary first thing in the morning... 

All joking aside (not that I have been), there is one over-riding wonder of being fifty one years old, and it's this (brace yourself for sincerity):

I've been very fortunate so far to have lived an active, interesting and varied life; one filled with many experiences.  Some of those experiences are of the kind that I'd rather never have had, but we all have those moments in our lives. Instead, I focus on the reality that I've so far had a life filled with laughter, love and the kind of gentle enjoyment that I wish for. Being this old is a privilege not granted to all of us, and I genuinely recognize that every day.  I want to reach a grand old age (the odds are a little against me, but I'm going to give it my best effort), and if I can continue to get the same kind of enjoyment out of life as I have had so far, I shall be a very lucky man. Thank you, universe for the ride so far - it's been a slice, but don't forget; there's plenty of life left in the old, farting, pot-bellied bald bastard yet.