Mid-Life crisis; it's that time where you look back at your life and wonder where the hell you have got to, where you are going to, what comes next, beyond of course, the inevitable slow decline into dotage.

The question is what to do about it. There are many possibilities; drink, drugs or a tendancy toward garden centres seem to be the main candidates. I, on the other hand, have started writing a blog, full of my own, unique, novel approach to punctuation. I feel rather relieved about things; before this, I was showing few signs of mid-life crisis; I mean, what was wrong me? Shouldn't I be having one by now? How come everyone else is having one?

I'd like to be fourteen again. The thing about being that age is that, while you have no idea what is going on, what is happening in the world, there is very little expectation on you that you should do. On the flip side, at my age at least you have easy access to sharp relief in the form of alcohol; a pleasing intersection of slowly increasing salary and decreasing liver function.

I thought I'd inflict it on the world (which will, no doubt, totally ignore it) because I don't really care any more — could there be a clearer sign of mid-life? I've got a comfy a pair of slippers as well, just in case you are wondering. Thank God that pipes have gone out of fashion.