The Arrow of Time

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A change is occurring. I’m 31. But as I’ve always claimed, I’ve aged at around three times the normal rate since becoming a dad. Meaning my actual age is closer to 43.

And I’ve started to notice things. Things that aren’t as they were. I’m not sure when it started, but it seems that Mrs Ben and I have started listening to Radio 2 in the morning (I quickly switch over to BBC6 whenever I realise this). I’ve even been listening to Radio 4 to catch the latest news from Japan.

Mrs Ben had Radio 1 on in the kitchen the other day to listen to the Top 40. It was minutes before I realised I’d been standing there with my top lip curled and my brow furrowed, so repelled by I was by the presenters and the music.

It wasn’t long ago that were I out and about at around 3:30pm I’d gaze at the college girls thinking of… well, you can imagine. Now? Oh, that skirt is awfully short. It’s not even ten degrees and she’s got no tights on. She’ll catch a chill. Do her parents allow her to dress like that? Uh, what awful annunciation.

Then there’s Tasmin Greig. Never fancied her. That is, until I saw her in Friday night Dinner. Where she’s dressed up as a middle aged housewife. So that’s what ticks my boxes now?

At Christmas mine and Mrs Ben’s “big present” from her family was a pot. A big orange cooking pot. Too cook things in. And that bit at the beginning of Homefront where the Koreans shoot the parents of that kid and it screams and runs over to them? A genuine moral outrage, Daily Mail style.

[NOTE – I’ve not yet started reading the Mail, though I’m not sure I’d ever vote Labour again]

Cup of tea > pint of beer. Night in > night out. Napping > not napping.

All that stands between me and proper full-on middle age now is getting a Black & Decker Workbench for my birthday.

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