Getting old is a right royal pain in the backside, isn’t it? I know middle aged celebs are always spouting that “I’ve never been happier” phrase (usually when they’ve just be paid fifty grand by Hello magazine for a photo shoot) but personally I kinda liked being young and healthy. Although – if I was 57 years old and called Stephen Fry and I’d just hooked up with a 27 year old I’d be saying “I’ve never been happier” too.
In fact, I’d quite happily trade the good Mr T in for a younger model – so if there’s any 27 year olds out there (or younger – I’m not fussy) who fancy their chances with Mrs T and can do a hatchet job on Mr T send me an email with the title “Age is no object and I’m hot for rotund old women.”
So, you may have been wondering where I’ve been as I have been fairly quiet for a while. Well, the truth is – I have started a new diet. It’s not my usual New Year diet on the lines of the Mad Axeman Diet and The Hot Dish Diet, it’s called the Hiatus Hernia Diet.
Yep, in early December the old body decided it was about time to start packing up on me. Now as I didn’t have the usual symptoms of a hiatus hernia (like heartburn) my other symptoms need investigating so I’ve had cameras stuck in almost every orifice (that’s almost every orifice) and it was concluded I have a small hiatus hernia which, in the scheme of life, aint so bad. It’s certainly better than being six foot under.
But boy oh boy – do you know the food stuffs they tell you avoid when you have a hiatus hernia?
There’s practically nothing left to eat apart from crackers and pretzels!
Hmm.. it’s a pity there’s no punctuation that indicates total despair. I suppose an exclamation mark will have to do. Blast.
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| I gifted myself a tin of Jacob’s crackers over Christmas. It was a sad, sad, day. Even the woman at the checkout gave me a pitying look. |
God, to think I may have to live twenty more years on a diet of crackers and pretzels. I may yet turn into one of those depressed writers you keep hearing about. It won’t be through the inability to create a literary masterpiece though it will be through not being able to stuff my face with chocolate chip cookies.
Anyway, I’ve come to the conclusion that what I need is a 27 year old toyboy to cheer myself up. I need to ask the lovely Stephen for some tips about how to get one. Cos let’s face it – it’s not like I could wine and dine my 27 year old stud into submission in some fancy restaurant is it? Just imagine it – my potential toyboy is sitting across from me eating fillet of steak and sipping champagne whilst I’m trying to seductively eat a plate full of Jacob’s cream crackers and sipping on a glass of cold water. It don’t think it’s a winning scenario.
And how many seductive ways are there to eat a Jacob’s cream cracker?
Not many I can tell you. Nibbling a cracker is not like nibbling a large fresh cream chocolate eclair. Or rolling your tongue around a banana. Remember the film Nine and a Half Weeks? Where Kim Basinger and Mickey Rourke do the sexy eating scene – well I reckon I can do the seductive stuff in about 5 seconds before reaching for the Gaviscon.
So there you have it. I had a miserable Christmas, nibbling crackers and contemplating my own mortality while everyone else tucked into the turkey. I’d like to think I’ve come up with some deep philosophical ideas on the meaning of life but so far all I’ve manage is this phrase:
“You’re screwed, Turley. Get yourself a toyboy before it’s too late.”
Any takers? I can provide crackers as a contraceptive.
