Well hello and welcome to another episode of How Old Am I. No, not in a jokey, doing-something-cute-and-childish way, and not in a nostalgic 'wasn't the world better when you could push your bike up the hill to the smell of freshly baked bread and the sound of Dvorjak?' way either. No, I mean I actually keep forgetting how old I am.
This would be baffling to a young person. I'm pretty sure because I used to be one of those myself, and, along with my address, phone number and j'ai douze ans merci beacoup, I'm pretty sure I had that information locked and loaded for anyone who asked.
Yet here we are. I just had to work it out by subtracting my birth year from the current year, and persuade myself that I'm not actually one year older than I temporarily thought I was. Quite the relief to get it right I suppose, but not so relieving that I was no longer quite sure of the difference between 47 and 48.
And I suppose to someone under 20, there isn't much difference, is there? I mean, 47? Yeah. Old. Parent-old. 48? Pretty much the same thing innit. Whereas between 19 and 20, or between 13 and 14, the gap is somehow much wider, as are the birthday marker posts that delineate the difference.
So tune in next week when I've forgotten what I went upstairs for, or a colleague has told me I've accidentally dressed like Val Doonican - true story by the way.
I mean sometimes I think cut out the transition and just hand me the slippers and the cardigan.
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