I am currently suffering with a severe bout of guilt, I blame it primarily on all the experts, commentators and their advisers that are constantly instructing or should that be coercing us into reducing;
Take less salt
Consume less fat
Drink less coffee
Avoid growing old
to mention just a few.
Now I can put my hand on my heart and ease my guilt a little, by having very little difficulty in satisfy their demands with items one, two and three.
But in all conscience to drink less coffee seems a step to far, as a freshly made espresso as the day dawns and before I throw a leg out of bed in the morning is as essential as a single malt whisky and a haggis is to a Burn’s supper.
As far as halting the progress of age, remaining child like or even youthful I fear it already is too late. I never was that fortunate to know a painter named Basil Hallward anyway and my name is not Dorian, it would also be my misfortune that someone would find the portrait and do the honourable deed.
“The old believe everything: the middle-aged suspect everything: the young know everything.”
I keep keep getting asked or to be to be precise my good lady wife keeps getting asked, “has your husband taken up golf”. It is not that I have shown any inclination to explore the environs of old Tom Morris although we are very found of St Andrews. Is it that Golf is considered a suitable occupation for a gentleman at this stage of retirement that prefers reading to gardening and therefore needs some encouragement to undertake exercise?
I could take up jogging, stepping into shorts and trainers but I am afraid I do not have the constitution never mind the physical development for shorts or the desire to make a spectacle of myself in the hedonistic pursuit of remaining young.
If my goal was to gain enternal youth I would seek out an artist by the name of Basil and have my portrait painted. To my way of thinking it would be much more to my preference than ruining a good walk with a Niblick or damaging my knees not to mention my ear drums as I believe it is compulsory to listen to the I Pod will pounding the pavement.
St. Brides, Traquair Kirk, Scottish Borders, Scotland,