Like with most males over forty, the sense of lessened longevity rises and the need to demonstrate one can wire a light fitting while standing on a steel ladder in a puddle of radioactive piranha fish in the rain diminishes into a more productive need of postponing the inevitable. Out goes the daily greasy bacon sandwich from the dodgy cafe. Away goes the all day alcohol athletics and ta-ta to the tobacco triathalon. Health and longevity increasingly comes first.
Surprised I've reached the age I have after a steady diet of fags, booze and deep fried related treats, one minor heart attack in my late twenties and a 30ft drop from a Snowdonian waterfall, I've gingerly been entering the world of the Gym Bore. Gingerly because I have a light ginger tinge to my hair. Bore because that's all I talk about of a morning with my "lift-to-work" buddy Katy.( Collapse )