Turning Forty

If you haven't got your life sorted at forty, no one, not even your own mum, is going to hand you a medal and say well done.

The one thing I don't glean any information about is her husband, so I let my imagination go to town. I imagine he's called Hugo, works at an art college and specialises in multimedia (whatever that is). At the weekend he plays football and squash and is currently in training for the London Marathon. In addition to this he plays the saxophone, is younger than me, and permanently smells of cinnamon. Make no mistake, Hugo is a right tosser.

The one think i don't glean any information about is her husband, so I let my imagination go to town. I imagine he's called Hugo, works at an art college and specialises in multimedia (whatever that is). At the weekend he plays football and squash and is currently in training for the London Marathon. In addition to this he plays the saxophone, is younger than me, and permanently smells of cinnamon. Make no mistake, Hugo is a right tosser.

Verily, my life is falling apart and there's not a damn thing Ican do about it.

Sooner or later change kills everything, mate,' I say. 'It's the way of the world.

Turns out I was wrong. Truth is I just couldn't do it any more.

... we fell out of love, but only one of us was prepared to say it.

I shuddered at the thought and from that point on did my best to stop thinking.

Because the universal truth of getting older is obvious: IF YOU ARE A LOSER AT FORTY YOU WILL BE A LOSER FOR LIFE.

Idiots of the world listen up:forty is the end of the race, the deadline of deadlines and the point at which excuses are no longer permitted.