So, it’s late 2014 and I feel like I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster. I’ve had a few nasty things to deal with, but that’s life! I don’t feel too comfortable discussing all of the problems experienced this year by those people closest to me, I suppose.
I was having my haircut on Saturday. Nowadays, my hairdresser is a young Welsh vegetarian girl named Becky who seems to look beautiful by accident. I speak to her about my wife, my stepdaughter and my mum and she tells me about her boyfriend and relatives from Wales. She is always intrigued that Costa Coffee never charge me extra for soya milk which came up after I mentioned my Lactose Intolerance. Lactose won’t kill me but it often has a nasty side effect!
In explanation of the beautiful by accident comment, Becky was cutting my hair while wearing a long figure-hugging black dress and hair that appeared freshly permed. When you add that she’s pretty enough never to need much make-up you should get an idea of what I mean. “Are you going somewhere straight after work,” I asked. No, she wasn’t; the dress and hair were both due to her rushing out of the house. The dress was the first item of clothing she saw and she had not had time to dry and straighten her hair before leaving the house. As support of her story, she was wearing some Dr Marten boots!
Anyway, as we spoke I realised that I couldn’t remember my age. I felt like I was in my twenties again. In my twenties, I remember turning 23 and then always struggled to remember my age until I turned 30. I’m going through that same stage again – when my age doesn’t seem important enough to remember.
Is forgetting my age something that only I do?
By the way, I thought a recent photo of Gloria and Yasmin would be more pleasing on the eye than one of me.