On the eve of my thirtieth birthday I went out to the Morning Star and celebrated the last day of my twenties. Today is the eve of my sixty fourth birthday. I have no plans to celebrate. It doesn’t feel as significant as the last day of your twenties. I am off out every night for the next six days on the trot anyway and need to conserve my energies. I also don’t ordinarily make a big thing of it being my birthday but for sixty four it seems different. This really is only because of the Beatles song but I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks now.
It’s a bit odd to be thinking of sixty four being “when I get older, losing my hair, many years from now” when actually it is tomorrow. What on earth am I supposed to make of that? At least I still have a reasonable head of hair. Ok, maybs thinning a bit at the front but I’m ok with it. My dad had a thick head of hair right up until the end.
Another thing is that the chances of me staying out until quarter to three is somewhat fanciful. I’m usually in bed by ten. Unless we really mean quarter to three in the afternoon which could be more understandable but still a little odd. An unusual time to pick. We are off to an 80s disco in a club in town on the 20th December. 2pm until 8pm followed by a dirty kebab and then a taxi home. Still sticking to the sentiment of the song I suppose. THG is coming with me so none of this locking the door nonsense, other than the fact that we would anyway when leaving the house.
The biggest issue I have is the “many years from now” bit. I find it difficult to reconcile the notion that sixty four is old and that old would appear to be a long way off. My mental age is still in the teens. Of course there are signs of physical deterioration. I’ve had two new hips as most of you will know. You don’t hear of people in their teens having a hiphop, boogeying aside.
There are other signs of change. When I was nineteen I hitchhiked to Greece. Slept in hedgerows and on beaches en route. Nowadays I’d fly business class and stay in a nice hotel in town. Or hire a villa. The Beatles, who would have gone by private jet, must have dropped that verse from the song. Would have made it too long. This was when singles needed to be three minutes or less and before the days of Bohemian Rhapsody which at six minutes altered the rules of the game forever.
For my actual sixty fourth birthday me ‘n THG are going to have a quiet couple of beers before we pick up a curry from the Castle View Indian and take it home for a cosy night in front of the telly. I will put my slippers on but not my cardigan because I don’t own one. When I get older indeed…
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Deer strolled by at eleven fifteen last night. No fox news.