Tempus fugit...

Time flies, or more accurately, time flees. And doesn't it just! It slides through our fingers with a slipperiness and speed that surprises. Along with forgetfulness, nasal hair, length of tooth and baldness, the speed at which time passes also increases with age.

This year has flown by; as soon as Easter was over it felt like we were tipped into the pomp and circumstance of a damp Diamond Jubilee, which segued into the Olympics and then the Paralympics, all played out to a soundtrack of moans about the weather. The union flags have now faded to a motion blur on my retina as retailers, unable to contain themselves, prematurely ejaculate their silver and gold gaudy Christmas sparkle into a landscape where the leaves have yet to turn brown.

It's been 22 days since my last post but it doesn't feel that long; it feels like I wrote it some time last week but, if I think about it, I know that isn't true. In some ways, it was easier to write a post every night. Having set myself the challenge last year to write a post each and every day, I had no other option so I just got on with it. Now I dither... a lot. Mind you, I quite like dithering. Many see it as a negative trait but I see it as a luxury. When life is lived at full tilt and where the breakneck pace at which most things are undertaken is seen as a mark of success in itself, there's little room for dither.

I want to put the brakes on. I want to slow things down. I sometimes feel like I'm on a train that whistles through a station that isn't one of the scheduled stops whilst I try in vain to read the platform signs to figure out the name of the town we're hurtling through. I want to be able to read the signs. I want to enjoy the journey. I'm prone to rushing; I've done it all my life. I'm good in a crisis. I'm learning to think and then force myself to slow down and, when I do, I enjoy it so much.

In a week's time I shall be 50. I never thought I'd live this long. Live fast, die young is the phrase that springs to mind - I'm still waiting. I certainly don't feel how I imagined I'd feel at 50: settled, responsible, confident. No, inside there's an immature 13 year old bursting to get out. I'm not sure where the last 37 years have gone. I seem to remember it was 1975; I lay back on the lounge floor, my Diamond Dogs LP was playing at full blast and just for a moment I closed my eyes... Next thing, it's 2012 and I'm pushing 50.

1 Year Ago:

Heterosexuals say the funniest things...