Some thoughts on university costs as I simultaneously curse the costs for our girls there at the moment, and thank our stars they didn't start two years later. A good Menopausal Man rant here would bemoan the loss of free university provision from my youth, along with devaluation of grades, dumbed down courses, pointless degrees, and allowing the great unwashed to turn university life from a privilege (meant as a positive comment on the responsibilities gained by the government's investment in you) to a necessity (why do you need a degree to enter a vocational career such as nursing, farming, engineering, etc., or to become a call centre agent?).
But I will resist that temptation and share some thoughts that have appeared in our (still free and uncowed) press this week.
The Schumpeter column in this week's Economist (http://www.economist.com/node/18926009) looks at cutting the cost of university education. It mainly deals with the US, but the ideas are applicable in the UK too. Two main strands are:
1. Separate teaching and research and pay for them separately: students should pay for teaching, and research councils and businesses should pay for research.
2. Cut costs of teaching through normal efficiency means - larger classes, consolidation of departments, pruning unpopular/unsuccessful courses.
Why universities feel that they should be spared the bracing wind of the current economy is beyond me. They need to face up to not only the current austerity regime, but increased competition from international institutions wishing to pinch their business. However, I do think limiting foreign student numbers is bonkers. As long as we keep teaching in English...
The other comment I noted was made in the Times "University Tuition Fees Are A Bargain" that castigated liberal agitators for moaning about getting students to pay for their own degrees post graduation. )By the way, please don't confusing my cursing above for moaning. I am just being selfish about us having to pay, rather than complaining that we should.) Again this was a two point article. Firstly, does it make moral or economic sense to ask lower paid school leavers to subsidise the increasing affluence of the graduates? That was a rhetoric question by the way. Secondly, the student loan system is remarkably generous in the payment terms, and only just stops short of being a full graduate tax. Yes, there is a large debt but it is not really treated as such against your credit rating.
So, in my best Four Yorkshiremen style, there you are.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Will Powers
As I mentioned in the last blog, losing weight is easy. All you need is the magic ingredient..... Willpower!
When I was in my first childhood, Will Powers was a made up pop act, with a cringingly corny top 20 hit called 'Kissing with Confidence'. Nowadays, willpower is an ethereal ability that only seems to be wielded by annoying, stroppy children or annoying, stroppy celebrities. Hmm, there may be a common link there... Our lives are now more hectic than ever forcing more of us to embrace multi-tasking as a coping strategy. Unfortunately menopausal men, like all men, were not wired to parallel compute but to do one thing at a time, (in my case preferably one thing a day). The consequence of all this is that I rarely have time to vegetate (a once essential mystic yogic state for the hairier sex) let alone do some serious life planning.
Back to waisting away. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good beer belly must be in want of a diet. Although we men like to think we are stronger in thought and deed than women, when it comes to losing weight we suffer from the same failing – namely Weak Will (or Prince William to the likes of you and me).
Now a man's attempt at diet differs in many ways from that of women. For a start, cutting out cakes and chocolate tends to have a limited effect on the typical male diet: it is like a woman giving up beer and kebabs. To make a real difference we would need to eat sensibly and exercise regularly. Also, this is not a 7 day wonder, but would need to be continued for months. All the serious dietary advice (would menopausal man read anything else – of course, we only read and follow what supports our ingrained prejudices) counsels us to aim to lose only a pound or two a week. So to lose the twenty to thirty pounds I could do with losing would probably take fifteen to twenty weeks.
Being a regular bloke (though thoroughly post-modern and metrosexual), the chances of me keeping to a routine of diet and exercise for this length of time is as likely as me being mistaken for Leonardo DiCaprio (although I did look a bit like Hugh Grant about twenty years ago - or was that Huge Grant?). Why? Because it take willpower. Not the macho willpower to put my hand in a fire for a bet, or the plucky willpower to ask a girl you fancy out, but the continuous, sustained, cast-iron willpower to eat five small balanced meals a day and exercise three times a week. Every week. For twenty weeks. While living the rest of my life; working, traveling, cooking and eating with the family, socialising with friends, partying (only joking, menopausal man rarely parties outside of Christmas and birthdays, because all his menopausal mates aren't allowed to by their menopausal wives), etc.
This constant willpower is like the tortoise that beats the hare – steady and plodding vs. the quick and mercurial. Unfortunately, this Menopausal Man is more like the hare (albeit receding), with a thirst for change and excitement (within reason of course – more like the Monty Python accountant wanting to be a lion-tamer). The thought of doing the same thing day after day, week after week dampens my good intentions and I unconsciously find ways to sabotage my own plans. As living proof of this inevitability, I need only look back at the two weeks since New Year to see the wreckage of my weight loss plans scattered to the winds.
Firstly, the eating smaller, healthier meals approach lasted one day. The complexity of trying to arrange for the right snacks to be available at the right times while I was working or traveling proved too much. Have you tried finding a low fat yoghurt and a handful of nuts and dried fruit on the train to London in the rush hour? And don't say take it with me, as I am lumbered with enough high-tech (i.e. Heavy & bulky) equipment and paperwork to strain my joints as it is. And how would I keep it: a) cool, and b) unexploded? Also, the chances of breaking a client meeting with a request to find the ingredients and equipment to make a fruit smoothie mid afternoon are much slimmer than I will ever be again.
Secondly, the practicalities of exercising regularly within an irregular work, family and social schedule tax even my project management talents. Otherwise known as PMT – and if you don't thinks that's funny, I'll bust your nuts (and dried fruit).
Don't get me wrong, I like exercising, and enjoy sport – why, I have over 20 sports channels on satellite. However, there is no single time of day when I can guarantee to be awake, in the house and at the correct interval between meals that will prevent me from either fainting or throwing up. Bad planning? You're right, it was bad planning to get a wife, family and active job (active in the sense of sitting at different desks/trains/cars/planes in various cities in the UK and Europe).
So am I just a weak willed miserable loser, blaming my failings on anyone but me? No, but I am realistic in accepting that taking a strong willed approach to shrinking my gut I would probably wreck the rest of my lifestyle (family/work, etc). So I will show my will power in playing the long game, using my irregular, eccentric lack of routine to fit in bursts of Doing the Right Thing, so that over time I will eat less and exercise more. I may have lost the first skirmish, but I intend to win the war. We shall fight them on the peaches...
When I was in my first childhood, Will Powers was a made up pop act, with a cringingly corny top 20 hit called 'Kissing with Confidence'. Nowadays, willpower is an ethereal ability that only seems to be wielded by annoying, stroppy children or annoying, stroppy celebrities. Hmm, there may be a common link there... Our lives are now more hectic than ever forcing more of us to embrace multi-tasking as a coping strategy. Unfortunately menopausal men, like all men, were not wired to parallel compute but to do one thing at a time, (in my case preferably one thing a day). The consequence of all this is that I rarely have time to vegetate (a once essential mystic yogic state for the hairier sex) let alone do some serious life planning.
Back to waisting away. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good beer belly must be in want of a diet. Although we men like to think we are stronger in thought and deed than women, when it comes to losing weight we suffer from the same failing – namely Weak Will (or Prince William to the likes of you and me).
Now a man's attempt at diet differs in many ways from that of women. For a start, cutting out cakes and chocolate tends to have a limited effect on the typical male diet: it is like a woman giving up beer and kebabs. To make a real difference we would need to eat sensibly and exercise regularly. Also, this is not a 7 day wonder, but would need to be continued for months. All the serious dietary advice (would menopausal man read anything else – of course, we only read and follow what supports our ingrained prejudices) counsels us to aim to lose only a pound or two a week. So to lose the twenty to thirty pounds I could do with losing would probably take fifteen to twenty weeks.
Being a regular bloke (though thoroughly post-modern and metrosexual), the chances of me keeping to a routine of diet and exercise for this length of time is as likely as me being mistaken for Leonardo DiCaprio (although I did look a bit like Hugh Grant about twenty years ago - or was that Huge Grant?). Why? Because it take willpower. Not the macho willpower to put my hand in a fire for a bet, or the plucky willpower to ask a girl you fancy out, but the continuous, sustained, cast-iron willpower to eat five small balanced meals a day and exercise three times a week. Every week. For twenty weeks. While living the rest of my life; working, traveling, cooking and eating with the family, socialising with friends, partying (only joking, menopausal man rarely parties outside of Christmas and birthdays, because all his menopausal mates aren't allowed to by their menopausal wives), etc.
This constant willpower is like the tortoise that beats the hare – steady and plodding vs. the quick and mercurial. Unfortunately, this Menopausal Man is more like the hare (albeit receding), with a thirst for change and excitement (within reason of course – more like the Monty Python accountant wanting to be a lion-tamer). The thought of doing the same thing day after day, week after week dampens my good intentions and I unconsciously find ways to sabotage my own plans. As living proof of this inevitability, I need only look back at the two weeks since New Year to see the wreckage of my weight loss plans scattered to the winds.
Firstly, the eating smaller, healthier meals approach lasted one day. The complexity of trying to arrange for the right snacks to be available at the right times while I was working or traveling proved too much. Have you tried finding a low fat yoghurt and a handful of nuts and dried fruit on the train to London in the rush hour? And don't say take it with me, as I am lumbered with enough high-tech (i.e. Heavy & bulky) equipment and paperwork to strain my joints as it is. And how would I keep it: a) cool, and b) unexploded? Also, the chances of breaking a client meeting with a request to find the ingredients and equipment to make a fruit smoothie mid afternoon are much slimmer than I will ever be again.
Secondly, the practicalities of exercising regularly within an irregular work, family and social schedule tax even my project management talents. Otherwise known as PMT – and if you don't thinks that's funny, I'll bust your nuts (and dried fruit).
Don't get me wrong, I like exercising, and enjoy sport – why, I have over 20 sports channels on satellite. However, there is no single time of day when I can guarantee to be awake, in the house and at the correct interval between meals that will prevent me from either fainting or throwing up. Bad planning? You're right, it was bad planning to get a wife, family and active job (active in the sense of sitting at different desks/trains/cars/planes in various cities in the UK and Europe).
So am I just a weak willed miserable loser, blaming my failings on anyone but me? No, but I am realistic in accepting that taking a strong willed approach to shrinking my gut I would probably wreck the rest of my lifestyle (family/work, etc). So I will show my will power in playing the long game, using my irregular, eccentric lack of routine to fit in bursts of Doing the Right Thing, so that over time I will eat less and exercise more. I may have lost the first skirmish, but I intend to win the war. We shall fight them on the peaches...
Friday, January 05, 2007
Waisting Away
Aaargh! Why is it that after a great 10 day break over Christmas and New Year I feel sh*t?
Three reasons stand out:
While I am talking about trousers, why don't the designers realise that when menopausal men put on weight, we don't turn into the Michelin man with the fat evenly distributed about the body. No, we look as if we are we are faking pregnancy or pretending to be Santa with a cushion shoved up the jumper. Designers seem to think our legs will turn into tree trunks therefore added acres of material in a straight line between the knees and the waist like an inverted circus tent. It is certainly quite airy in there (especially after the sprouts) but I'm too old for baggies and too young for jodhpurs.
Anyway back to the waist. I did what every menopausal man does in this situation. I bought a copy of Men's Health (Special Lose-Your-Gut issue! - I kid you not) and sat down with a beer to read it. Once you get past the intimidatingly ripped gay icons and the quite explicit sex advice thoughtfully accompanied by undressed fashion models, there is loads of sensible advice on losing your flab and looking like Daniel Craig as 007. As I have always known, losing weight is just eating less and exercising more. It is amazing that a whole host of fitness magazines have built empires on just telling us this in increasingly ingenious ways (towel curls anyone?).
At the risk of demeaning the intelligence of the fairer sex (no, take your mind off Daniel Craig now) why is it that the equivalent women's "health" magazines just concentrate on diet, i.e. Eating less. Now call me simple, but selling women glossy mags full of food porn (but less than 200 calories per portion!) would only encourage me to eat more and therefore need more diet help from the magazines... (I've always been fairly skeptical but I am definitely moving on to cynicism as I get older - sorry more mature.)
The catch is that you still need a magic ingredient to lose weight. Which I will discuss in the next blog...
Essential viewing for Menopausal "Chef" Man: Heston Blumenthal: "In Search of Perfection" where he uses a blowtorch to crisp up a massive rib of beef - Primal!
Three reasons stand out:
- Being cooped up with family and relatives is a trying time for most and particularly for menopausal men. We are hoping to relax and enjoy the fruits of our last 12 months labours, only to find that the worry over presents (she doesn't know what she wants so what chance have I got!), the relatives (so that's why we only see them once a year...), and the sales shopping (are the January sales the new Christmas for many people?).
- Going back to work gets harder the longer you are away. Rather than feeling refreshed, I spent most of my first day back blearily going through the pointless emails sent by people who worked through the holidays and wanted you to know it.
- The Christmas bulge – you begin looking like Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas (at least in your mind's eye), and end looking like Fat Bastard from Austin Powers. It's not just the food (lots of fats and sugars with only the Brussels sprouts for fibre) and drink (I'll just finish this open bottle of Madeira before it goes off), but also the irregular trough times.
While I am talking about trousers, why don't the designers realise that when menopausal men put on weight, we don't turn into the Michelin man with the fat evenly distributed about the body. No, we look as if we are we are faking pregnancy or pretending to be Santa with a cushion shoved up the jumper. Designers seem to think our legs will turn into tree trunks therefore added acres of material in a straight line between the knees and the waist like an inverted circus tent. It is certainly quite airy in there (especially after the sprouts) but I'm too old for baggies and too young for jodhpurs.
Anyway back to the waist. I did what every menopausal man does in this situation. I bought a copy of Men's Health (Special Lose-Your-Gut issue! - I kid you not) and sat down with a beer to read it. Once you get past the intimidatingly ripped gay icons and the quite explicit sex advice thoughtfully accompanied by undressed fashion models, there is loads of sensible advice on losing your flab and looking like Daniel Craig as 007. As I have always known, losing weight is just eating less and exercising more. It is amazing that a whole host of fitness magazines have built empires on just telling us this in increasingly ingenious ways (towel curls anyone?).
At the risk of demeaning the intelligence of the fairer sex (no, take your mind off Daniel Craig now) why is it that the equivalent women's "health" magazines just concentrate on diet, i.e. Eating less. Now call me simple, but selling women glossy mags full of food porn (but less than 200 calories per portion!) would only encourage me to eat more and therefore need more diet help from the magazines... (I've always been fairly skeptical but I am definitely moving on to cynicism as I get older - sorry more mature.)
The catch is that you still need a magic ingredient to lose weight. Which I will discuss in the next blog...
Essential viewing for Menopausal "Chef" Man: Heston Blumenthal: "In Search of Perfection" where he uses a blowtorch to crisp up a massive rib of beef - Primal!
Monday, September 04, 2006
The Drugs Don't Work
I wasn't intending to write a blog today, but a sudden heavy cold has postponed the start of the working week, and while my Lemsip keeps me in a clear but dull state of mind, I thought I'd talk about drugs.
Before you get concerned about a Just Say No diatribe, or, even worse, an I Love Weed rant I am talking about the sorts of pills and tablets a Menopausal Man might consider. Like Viagra. Or Testosterone. Or Lemsip Flu Plus Max (no namby-pamby ordinary strength cold remedies for a man who is suffering – It's a well known fact that men's colds are always far worse than women's...).
Given that the male menopause is not fully accepted by the medical world (and I know it is technically called Andropause – but Andropausal Man just doesn't slip off the tongue), are there any real medical, rather that psychosomatic, issues that need to be addressed by drugs? The fact is, as I understand it, that testosterone levels reduce as you get older (unless you are Bill Clinton) and this directly affects your libido, weight gain, stamina, etc. Given that all these essential male traits significantly affect your self-esteem, it is difficult for most men (me included) to go from Alpha male to Beta male without a severe loss of self-respect or even identity.
Now, given I was never much of an Alpha male to begin with (I had the physique of a beanpole and more interest in books than girls), why do I still feel a lesser man (no smutty innuendos, please) as my body gradually declines? I think that at the core of this is the realisation that mortality is a fact, not just a word. It can be scary to think, as I occasionally do, that I am nearer the end than the beginning. For men who think this way, there is a strong attraction to 'Wonder' drugs that promise to restore the feelings of youth, be it for increased libido or higher energy levels. So it is no surprise that many resort to the 'Vitamin V' and synthetic testosterone pills to re-capture their youth.
However, I find this a sad indictment of the pressures that can drive a man to given that for all but a few medical situations, the outcome is purely for vanity not health. So, you will probably surmise from this that I haven't gone down this route to pill paradise. Don't get me wrong, I would really like to be as fit and energetic as my 25 year old self. But my desire to regain fitness and energy is tempered by a need to achieve this is a more natural and holistic fashion. I believe this to be possible, and I have started down the path to improve my health and well-being.
So now my confession – as a paid up member of Andropausals Anonymous (hah! I found a use for this A word), I have to admit to a weakness for another drug in pill form. Slow release Vitamin C. There, I have said it, and I feel better for doing so. I also feel a lot better for actually taking the things and I am not ashamed to admit it.
For those not in the know, slow release Vitamin C pills provide a steady release of the vitamin over about 12 hours rather than the 1-2 hours from a standard tablet. Now Vitamin C deficiency has been linked to several symptoms, but larger doses are said to help reduce the chances and severity of colds, although the scientific evidence for this is mixed. Even if this does reduce colds, what does this have to do with regaining my youth? Well, the answer lies in how I am trying to improve my health. No magic here – I am currently training three times a week for 40 minutes, mainly running. In between, I am stretching and doing light weights. Still, why the emphasis on the pills?
This story goes back about 10 years, during which time I have been trying to stave off advancing age by exercising regularly. Unfortunately, with an erratic job, I never had a set routine to exercise, and tended to train for a couple of weeks, do nothing for a few weeks, then try to pick the training up again at the same level as I had left it. One of the unforgiving traits of the aging body is its growing reluctance to recover quickly and maintain fitness over time. Consequently, I ended up invariably going down with an injury or, more likely, a cold when I re-started training. This hopeless cycle went on for years as I became increasingly more frustrated and despairing of my failing body. Earlier this year, an acquaintance through work told me about their similar training nightmare, and then how they had improved things by taking the slow release Vit C tablets. His view (and he is a salesman not a doctor) was that the Vit C had prevented him from catching colds (and therefore allowed him to train more and get fitter) by mopping up the free radicals caused by stressing the body so that you well less susceptible to catching whatever bug was going around. This certainly rang a bell for me, and although I gave him slightly less credence than our GP, I thought I would give it a go.
Nine months later, popping a 500mg slow release Vitamin C tab once a day I have been cold free while training regularly. Until today. Which, as I said at the beginning of this blog, is why I am writing this now. So, has my wonder pill turned out to be snake oil? I don't think so because over the last week I have forgotten to take the tablet regularly as, and you'll laugh at this, we re-organised our kitchen last week and I ended up putting the Vit C packet out of sight – in fact behind the cereal boxes in the cupboard. Now we are creatures of habit and, as the more mature of you will know, if it ain't in front of us we will forget it. So my pill-taking has been all over the place this week. Then a triple (quadruple?) whammy – Indian takeaway and a bottle of wine Friday night after a long stressful day in London, followed by a restless night, caused by the food and wine, and then I forced myself to do my normal run early (6am!) Saturday morning. My body was (rightly) unimpressed with the instructions coming from the barely conscious mind and did its best to stop or slow the run. However, hubris (another Menopausal Man symptom) forced me to continue beyond my body's capabilities. So here I am, just about to have another Flu Plus Max, feeling sorry for myself, but still believing in the power of Vit C. It may not be a double blind, random assignment research experiment, but at least the placebo effect is working for me!
Essential reading for Menopausal Men: Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse.
Menopausal Man
Before you get concerned about a Just Say No diatribe, or, even worse, an I Love Weed rant I am talking about the sorts of pills and tablets a Menopausal Man might consider. Like Viagra. Or Testosterone. Or Lemsip Flu Plus Max (no namby-pamby ordinary strength cold remedies for a man who is suffering – It's a well known fact that men's colds are always far worse than women's...).
Given that the male menopause is not fully accepted by the medical world (and I know it is technically called Andropause – but Andropausal Man just doesn't slip off the tongue), are there any real medical, rather that psychosomatic, issues that need to be addressed by drugs? The fact is, as I understand it, that testosterone levels reduce as you get older (unless you are Bill Clinton) and this directly affects your libido, weight gain, stamina, etc. Given that all these essential male traits significantly affect your self-esteem, it is difficult for most men (me included) to go from Alpha male to Beta male without a severe loss of self-respect or even identity.
Now, given I was never much of an Alpha male to begin with (I had the physique of a beanpole and more interest in books than girls), why do I still feel a lesser man (no smutty innuendos, please) as my body gradually declines? I think that at the core of this is the realisation that mortality is a fact, not just a word. It can be scary to think, as I occasionally do, that I am nearer the end than the beginning. For men who think this way, there is a strong attraction to 'Wonder' drugs that promise to restore the feelings of youth, be it for increased libido or higher energy levels. So it is no surprise that many resort to the 'Vitamin V' and synthetic testosterone pills to re-capture their youth.
However, I find this a sad indictment of the pressures that can drive a man to given that for all but a few medical situations, the outcome is purely for vanity not health. So, you will probably surmise from this that I haven't gone down this route to pill paradise. Don't get me wrong, I would really like to be as fit and energetic as my 25 year old self. But my desire to regain fitness and energy is tempered by a need to achieve this is a more natural and holistic fashion. I believe this to be possible, and I have started down the path to improve my health and well-being.
So now my confession – as a paid up member of Andropausals Anonymous (hah! I found a use for this A word), I have to admit to a weakness for another drug in pill form. Slow release Vitamin C. There, I have said it, and I feel better for doing so. I also feel a lot better for actually taking the things and I am not ashamed to admit it.
For those not in the know, slow release Vitamin C pills provide a steady release of the vitamin over about 12 hours rather than the 1-2 hours from a standard tablet. Now Vitamin C deficiency has been linked to several symptoms, but larger doses are said to help reduce the chances and severity of colds, although the scientific evidence for this is mixed. Even if this does reduce colds, what does this have to do with regaining my youth? Well, the answer lies in how I am trying to improve my health. No magic here – I am currently training three times a week for 40 minutes, mainly running. In between, I am stretching and doing light weights. Still, why the emphasis on the pills?
This story goes back about 10 years, during which time I have been trying to stave off advancing age by exercising regularly. Unfortunately, with an erratic job, I never had a set routine to exercise, and tended to train for a couple of weeks, do nothing for a few weeks, then try to pick the training up again at the same level as I had left it. One of the unforgiving traits of the aging body is its growing reluctance to recover quickly and maintain fitness over time. Consequently, I ended up invariably going down with an injury or, more likely, a cold when I re-started training. This hopeless cycle went on for years as I became increasingly more frustrated and despairing of my failing body. Earlier this year, an acquaintance through work told me about their similar training nightmare, and then how they had improved things by taking the slow release Vit C tablets. His view (and he is a salesman not a doctor) was that the Vit C had prevented him from catching colds (and therefore allowed him to train more and get fitter) by mopping up the free radicals caused by stressing the body so that you well less susceptible to catching whatever bug was going around. This certainly rang a bell for me, and although I gave him slightly less credence than our GP, I thought I would give it a go.
Nine months later, popping a 500mg slow release Vitamin C tab once a day I have been cold free while training regularly. Until today. Which, as I said at the beginning of this blog, is why I am writing this now. So, has my wonder pill turned out to be snake oil? I don't think so because over the last week I have forgotten to take the tablet regularly as, and you'll laugh at this, we re-organised our kitchen last week and I ended up putting the Vit C packet out of sight – in fact behind the cereal boxes in the cupboard. Now we are creatures of habit and, as the more mature of you will know, if it ain't in front of us we will forget it. So my pill-taking has been all over the place this week. Then a triple (quadruple?) whammy – Indian takeaway and a bottle of wine Friday night after a long stressful day in London, followed by a restless night, caused by the food and wine, and then I forced myself to do my normal run early (6am!) Saturday morning. My body was (rightly) unimpressed with the instructions coming from the barely conscious mind and did its best to stop or slow the run. However, hubris (another Menopausal Man symptom) forced me to continue beyond my body's capabilities. So here I am, just about to have another Flu Plus Max, feeling sorry for myself, but still believing in the power of Vit C. It may not be a double blind, random assignment research experiment, but at least the placebo effect is working for me!
Essential reading for Menopausal Men: Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse.
Menopausal Man
Sunday, September 03, 2006
And So It Begins
So it finally hits me. 45. Balding. Overweight. Fed up with the rat race.
It must be time to either have a heart attack, an American Beauty moment or to slowly decline into senility and dribbling.
Well, I'm sorry but none of these appeal to my still youthful (second childhood) mind. I feel more like accommodating the changes that are necessary (healthier food, regular exercise) but resisting some of the behaviour expected of someone of my increasing seniority (golf, opera, cardigans).
I plan to use this blog to work through the perceived and actual issues with being of an (un)certain age. Being at the back end of the Baby Boomer generation, I can see that I represent the last wave who retain the moral values of their pre-war parents, rather than the amoral values of Generation X.
45 is also a difficult time emotionally, as I wrestle with the irritation of everyday life (commuting - why can't everyone else just get out of the goddam way!), the gradually failing of my bodily functions (still continent - just, hair receding to the horizon), teenage kids (I was never that bad at 15!), and unfulfilled dreams (retiring at 40 having made my fortune, playing rugby for England).
However, I am by nature optimistic and see this as a time to recover any lost ground in ngelected areas (I've started reading more classics again), enjoy the now (I'm no longer a txt n00b), and plan for improvement (run my first marathon at 46 - closely followed by by first heart attack ;-)
This is also my first ever blog, so please feel free to give constructive comments. I shan't take any notice of them, but it's nice to know there is someone out there...
Currently listening to: The really irritating muzak from Sims 2 that my daughter is playing.
Menopausal Man
It must be time to either have a heart attack, an American Beauty moment or to slowly decline into senility and dribbling.
Well, I'm sorry but none of these appeal to my still youthful (second childhood) mind. I feel more like accommodating the changes that are necessary (healthier food, regular exercise) but resisting some of the behaviour expected of someone of my increasing seniority (golf, opera, cardigans).
I plan to use this blog to work through the perceived and actual issues with being of an (un)certain age. Being at the back end of the Baby Boomer generation, I can see that I represent the last wave who retain the moral values of their pre-war parents, rather than the amoral values of Generation X.
45 is also a difficult time emotionally, as I wrestle with the irritation of everyday life (commuting - why can't everyone else just get out of the goddam way!), the gradually failing of my bodily functions (still continent - just, hair receding to the horizon), teenage kids (I was never that bad at 15!), and unfulfilled dreams (retiring at 40 having made my fortune, playing rugby for England).
However, I am by nature optimistic and see this as a time to recover any lost ground in ngelected areas (I've started reading more classics again), enjoy the now (I'm no longer a txt n00b), and plan for improvement (run my first marathon at 46 - closely followed by by first heart attack ;-)
This is also my first ever blog, so please feel free to give constructive comments. I shan't take any notice of them, but it's nice to know there is someone out there...
Currently listening to: The really irritating muzak from Sims 2 that my daughter is playing.
Menopausal Man
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