The Beginning Of The End

Well, it's happened. I'm on the downhill side of life. It doesn't seem fair, really, since I'm not even forty yet, but there it is.

Last night, a friend of Duncan's was over watching rugby with us. After the rugby, out of what I can only call inertia, we watched part of the most ridiculous movie I have ever seen. I couldn't concentrate on finding the plot because I kept wondering what on earth made anyone invest money in the screenplay, never mind the actors, the costumes or the film.

At one point, the lead actor broke into song. I said, "He's no Milli Vanilli." Duncan's 25-year-old friend looked at me blankly. "Surely you've heard of Milli Vanilli?" I asked in horror. He shook his head.

Mute and deflated, I turned back to the movie. After a couple of minutes, our friend said to Duncan, "Did you do the choreography on this thing?"

I said (with a speed of wit I can't usually muster), "No, Richard Simmons did." Duncan chuckled heartily, but the 25-year-old gave me the same blank look. And do you know, I think he was totally unaware of the devastation he had wreaked.

This morning, I rubbed Deep Heat on my aching joints, pressed the button to raise the head of my therapeutic bed, and clutched my Zimmer frame for the long walk to the loo.