Contrary to what the opening statement would have you believe, I’m not new. I’m not particularly old, either. I’m middle-aged. I hate that term…
Even this blog isn’t new. It’s a continuation of a blog I had on another platform (which like most things I am unfamiliar with/unable to use properly, was shite) and which I will be referencing from time to time when I am really feeling too knackered or apathetic to write something original or topical. It’s my age, you see; I’m what you might call a curmudgeon, with a permanently disgruntled expression on my face to match the title. I can’t help that; it’s my genes, mixed with a dash of gravity. Or…it might be the diabetes…or the hypertension. There is also a reasonable chance that I’m influenced by a recent brain tumour and two major surgeries within a six week period, along with associated persistent and deteriorating hormone deficiencies, but that would be making excuses. Mostly, I’m just an irritable old fart with too much fat around my middle and startlingly enormous, deeply unattractive underpants.
I’m suddenly feeling pleased with myself because I didn’t mention the thirty sessions of radiotherapy. Oh shit…
The Age of Spreading Middles 