This is the video that Leo is referring to: Rose-tinted Glasses by Kings of Inertia. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. But that is indeed me in the wig and sunglasses and apparently not much else.
Yes, I admit, I am getting older. There are more grey bits in my beard than there are ginger. Not that I’m ginger: good God no! I’m mousy brown. No: salt and pepper! Only brown pepper rather than black. Do they do brown pepper?
Yes, I am aging. But, I feel, aging gracefully. Well, okay: disgracefully. But I honestly do think I’m keeping pretty well. Most people, when asked by other people who know my age to guess my age, normally put me in my thirties. And to be honest, I see people in their thirties that do look a bit more ravaged by the passage of time than I. I put it down to moderation in all things, a healthy amount of booze, no fags, regular sport, and no kids.
The “no kids” bit is a bit of a shame, as me and the wife would have been great parents and brought them up well. But alas, The Lord in his infinite wisdom decided to have a bit of a laugh and give the over-active fertility gene to all the people who need lots of kids for the state benefits that the UK Government reward them with (note: I don’t really believe in The Lord, but it’s handy to have some omnipotent being to blame).
I’ve still got almost as much hair as last time you saw me. Considering my dad had the typical male pattern baldness thing going on in his early thirties, I’m doing good. Touch wood.
Weight-wise, I’ve been heavier – I think when I worked full-time in the White Lion, the seven nights of boozing took its toll, and I got up to over 11 stone. Up until then, I’d been your typical nine and a half stone weakling. People would kick sand in my face – even when I was miles away from the nearest beach. But then all of a sudden: 11 stone weakling! I seem to have settled around the 10 and a half stone mark.
Five foot nine, with a 32 inch waist, that’s pretty good for our advanced age, don’t you think? If I cut down on the booze, the occasional cream doughnut/cornish pasty/sausage sandwich, and the weekend fast food treats (peperoni pizza/chicken tikka jalfrezi and nan) and did a little bit more upper body exercise, I’d be in pretty good shape. Giving myself options there, you see?
I think it helps that I have a beautiful wife who insists on maintaining her seven and a half stone fighting weight. If I’d married a fat bird? Well, I shudder to think!