Eventually age catches up with you, we all know that because we see it around us all the time. I get reminded of it every time I meet up with an old friend after an embarrassing number of years and – comparing how they were in my mind’s eye (i.e. when I last saw them) to how they are now – they look so much older. But then, of course, they must be thinking the same of me!
And we all know that we think of ourselves as, well okay, eternally thirty eight or at worst forty eight – certainly not the age we are now.
There was a time when my ‘recovery’ ability was perfect. I could spend night after night on the tiles, get some kip and hit the road again first thing in the morning literally none the worse for wear.
Not any longer, I fear.
The night before last, with two neighbours, I sank the best part of a magnum of some very pleasant ‘fake’ champagne (fizz advertised as being made in the style of champagne but about 50% cheaper). Thereafter I sank into bed three parts sozzled and slept for a baby for about four hours before rising again to begin my normal ‘dayshift’ in the middle of the night.
As a result, by 10.00am yesterday I was feeling excessively tired and took myself off to my bedroom where I slept on the bed for about an hour.
Up again, refreshed, I did some shopping and went about my business at home through to lunchtime, watched the latest developments on Brexit on television over a sandwich and a soft drink and then – as normal – took my daily post-prandial snooze.
From which I arose again some two and a half hours later. Two and a half hours! And awoke again feeling just as tired as I did before I nodded off.
The only explanations seemed to be that either I had endured one hell of a hangover or was simply getting ancient.
I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out which.
I came to the conclusion that if it was the latter then I’ve got to learn to get used to the feeling because I suspect I’ve got a lot of it to come.