I was watching one of those early-evening BBC2 shows that you only watch because you’ve just got home from work and you can’t face cooking straight away. It was a programme of the ‘property porn’ genre, featuring an interview with a roofer who specialised in restoration work.
“He’s a bit young to be responsible for all that”, I thought to myself. “He can only be about my age.”
Er, right. “Newsflash – you ain’t young, jackass”, shouted my internal voice. I’m told a common horror-inducer is to see a copper who is younger than you. Still, I’m not exactly being dragged kicking and screaming towards 30. A guilty secret – I LIKE getting older. Sure, there are disadvantages, but I’ve got a lot more in the yay column than the boo.
However, there is one thing I’ve gotta do this year, and that is get a sleeve tattoo. I’ve been all talk and no ink for YEARS now. I’ve tolerated my crappy off-the-wall tattoos for too damned long. The excuses of time and money no longer apply. So – If I don’t have a sleeve tattoo by the 31st of December 2008, you have permission to punch me in the face. (This only applies if we know each other in real life – no lurking knuckleduster collectors need pay heed)
That’s pretty much it for resolutions. After six months of near abstinence, I’ve been smoking like a fiend this week. Most people give up in January, but I have to be different, innit. Cough, splutter.