My day at work yesterday was horrific. Following the unpleasant mutterings of a colleague mouthing off other colleagues, one in particular, I lost my temper thus causing a row. Whilst lasting only a few minutes it managed to fuck up my day royally, in addition to this I was under serious pressure with deadlines and wasn’t in the mood to have to deal with the whole work/office deal.

I was glad to get home, despite having to use the fucking bicycle to do so. The journey back was cack, for the entire journey lumps of grey jelly were being jettisoned from my scarlet face. My legs were aching, my back hurt, to top it all I was going really slowly…this wasn’t just a question of the effects of smoking; this was proper getting fucking old.

Later in the evening in the bath, when I realised that the pile of black detritus floating to and fro were actually my pubic hairs, it dawned on me how much of my youth had silently fallen away without me even noticing. About 3 years ago I bought some clippers for the solo purpose of cutting hair off my hairy balls. I’d never had hairy balls before but this thought didn’t even occur to me when I bought the clippers, it just, well, happened. Again, a few months ago I bought some nose-hair clippers from Argos (classy huh). Once again, an automatic purchase, I was merely responding to the symptom of age without acknowledging age itself.

I put this down to a mild dose of OCD; it keeps everything in check without conjecture. When I get out of the bath and my penis resembles a bit of spaghetti hanging out of the mouth of Gandalf, OCD knows it’s time to have a trim; I don’t have to think about it. It is the same with the nose; the second there is the slightest evidence of the merest prickle, buzzzzzzz (in this instance the OCD is bolstered by a daily reminder from a chap working here whose nose appears as if filled with black cuckoo spit).

Anyway, I was shaving my balls last night thinking about how much fucking effort it was these days just to keep myself looking vaguely unlike Osama Bin Laden. I have to wash my hair daily and shave my face; every other day I have to clean out my ears, every week cut the nails and this isn’t even counting the perpetual routine of face/hand washing (and arse wiping). It’s a bum rap frankly and then to cap it all the clippers nicked my sack which was so fucking painful I nearly bit off my entire lower lip. You can’t win can you. On the plus side after I’d stemmed the flow of blood and washed off the cut hairs I’d have made a fucking horse blush.

Opted for the motorcycle this morning, it was the first day this year that I’ve worn my black visor too, it’s not legal but it’s worth the risk from the cops because one looks otherworldly with a hint of the devil about one. As it’s the Easter break there were few and far vehicles on the road so I rode like a fucking idiot. It was ace, proper hero stuff.

Just before I dismounted my bike I acknowledged that if I was younger I’d neither be able to afford, maintain and insure a fine machine such as this. So maybe there are some advantages of getting old after all!

Not many though, hardly none actually.

Fuck.