Cinquante et un

Yeah, your humble scribe is now 51. I am now undeniably in my 50s (I say “undeniably” because the world is full tedious cunts who are tiresomely pedantic about a zero year being the end of the old decade, not the start of the next one, and I hate them; if you are one of them, please go and fuck yourself). Middle age continues. I won’t go over the usual birthday existentialism (“how have I made it this far and why am I still here?”, etc), though I will say I think I’m feeling it more than usual. But this year has been like that, hasn’t it? I’m hardly the only one for whom the state of the world at large isn’t enhancing their wellbeing…

…Anyway, that’s me in the early hours of today. Hair unwashed and uneven, and increasing receding from my forehead though still keeping most of its colour, while the beard gets greyer (and it looks even more so in the bathroom mirror), and the black t-shirt has seen better days much like the individual wearing it. Still, could be worse for 51, all things being equal…