I've been having another of those 'eek 40!' days today. It's creeping up awfully fast, the thirties are already busy packing up the case and wondering where it might be nice to have a holiday to, once all the work of being in the them is done with, meanwhile we have the forties measuring up for curtains and muttering about 'change, and not a moment too soon'.
Even in our longer lived world, 40 still feels a bit halfway house, in the middlish, the top of a hill, or at least somewhere near the summit. Such places are always good to pause and have a long, hard think about this for one and that for another. Talking of this and that, I got to thinking what would I like to be able to say, conclusively, once the 3 at the start of my age has the op and becomes a 4?
I'd like to think that my hardest grafting sporting days are behind me, and that future sports will be a far more sedate affair. Bowling 12 over spells of medium pace shennanigans into the wind on 40 fags a day is no mean feat, and even without the smoking these days, not one I'd care to go back to in a hurry. Worry not though, for the 5-13 in 12 overs at Belton, the 6 saucy Overstranders sent back to the hutch on one of my feistier days, and especially the portly local legend who declared 'he can't bowl for toffee' shortly before having his off stump cartwheeled are well and truly banked. From now on I can be the guy that used to be a bit handy on occasion with the new ball and now just enjoys a bit of sloggerific batting, a plateful of sandwiches and cake and one or two more beers than he used to. The summer game, on wistful days, carries all the glory of old England.
I'd also like to think there has been a fair amount of rascally behaviour in my time. Not through any malcontent, but because the best people are rogues. That is to say, the people I get on the easiest with have a rascally stripe to them. Once again though, I don't think I have too much to worry about on this score. There is, somewhere deep within the memory banks, evidence aplenty of 'stuff what I plum got away with' - all of course perfectly harmless and whimsical. At least, it is now looking back at it ;) In any case, you can't make an omelette without sneaking off for egg and chips and a few jars whilst the stage arrives and you're in charge of putting it up and ensuring a few hundred people have a thoroughly good time. That's the correct proverb, right?! Pick your favourite Dave moment and picture me, grinning. That's pretty much the moment summed up.
What is this post all about though, really? It's really a long-winded and Mudpuddled way of me coming to the point I really want to make. I want, when I am 40, and indeed when I am 80 or 120 for the people I love to know that they are loved. Those I have loved intimately to know I treasure the memories we share, those I love in my family to know how dear they are to me, and how much I am always speechless at the patience, kindness and love they have given me, never failingly, for my whole life. Even in the coldest times, it has been toasty in my family, for that I am lucky, and blessed. To my friends, I want them to know how much I love them for their friendship, each different, each with their own wonder. Everybody I count as a friend is so for a reason, and it is because of the thing that makes you 'you' to me - it's different for every single one of you, but it's what makes me love you and why I'll always be here for you, should you require a slightly battered old nut for any reason. You get that for life. Thank you for the things you have done to make me smile, dry my eyes or simply wrap me in a warm embrace. Even when you didn't know you were doing it, but it was everything I needed right then.
What's next?
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