I've started to think about old age more and more. Strangely the older I get the more I think about it.

I'm not old I'm 33 this year. And to be frank I'm not scared of old age nor for that matter of death. In fact I'm looking forward to the aging process, the death bit is a bit of a kick in the bollocks but it's going to happen, but the aging well it's already happening. Hairs getting slightly grey in places, the weird thing with grey hair it's nuts it grows faster than normal hair and it springs out at strange angles, if I let it grow I look like an aging Krusty the clown.

Wrinkles are starting to stay as well, I can't say I look distingisited, I suppose to someone who has matured I look like a pubescent, not quite there, wrinkles looking like bumfluff, grey hair not even grey just slightly dull. The only thing about getting old, I'm not looking forward to is the hair - not losing it I've been doing that for years no gaining it.
You may well laugh but hairy ears what the hell is all that about, why would your ears, nose and even your eye brows suddenly sprout. And when this happens why oh why don't they cut it, they claim to be deaf but fooking hell cut the fluff, you may find you can hear again. Does hair grow out off every orifice....God I hope not.

I'm not that bothered about the pissing and shitting myself even, oh no mate that'll be cool, why wait? I might even keep some old clothes in a bag, you know the sort - brown kidney warmer trousers, white belt, grey/white shirt - with stains down the front may be a button missing, a slightly different brown blazer - may be a checked one haven't decided yet, with an armed forces badge, the elbows with that extra bit of material (why??) and of course a kipper tie I may even have a nudy woman one - people'll think it was a presant from my grandchildren or something. A pair of old tatty white trainers. I'm trying to look smart but just missing the mark, in the hope people will think ahhh bless him. Then for months, in fact I might start soon. I'll start to urinate on the clothes. Let them dry then pee some more I might even intersect this with a number two. Rub it right into the fabric, let it dry and pick off the excess, don't want to look like a foooking dribbler. Then every pension day, off I'll go catching the bus, sitting next to the most well dressed fooker I can find, looking at him and sniffing as though he has shate himself, adding a cough and a splutter, just for that added grossness. Shaking my hankie around like a sodding Morris dancer. Guaranteed a seat on my own.

I might even start to mutter to myself - not sure on this bit just yet.

Then as I enter the post office out comes the sun glasses and white stick. Swish swish this way that - a way, hitting as many things and people as I can. This may be a tad strong I might just go for the walking stick. Snot hanging down my hairy nose and if need be I'll wee myself slightly. Again queue what queue.

And as for the memory loss and the dementia. I'll start that early as well. Might as well enjoy it whilst you can. I'll start slow calling the girls different names - Jess I'll call Shannon so on so forth - subtle, nothing too much at first. I'll gradualy build this up nothing too extreme but enough for alarm bells to ring. When they ship me off to the doctors - normal. When they drop me off at home - off comes the trollies. I figure when my marbles do go, and they will one day. The doctors will think this is normal for me and leave me be - or they lock me away with 3 square meals a day and enough tissues to wipe the dribble, either way it's a win win situation.

I'm going to start making things up as well. A bit like Grampa Simpson. You know the sort of stuff in my day a chicken used to be called a googgle fart, in my day everything was better you could leave your front door unlocked for years and how a pint of beer cost -£3:50 in fact they paid you to drink. And the old time classic - I fought in the war (have you noticed they never say which war they fought in???)

Another thought has just been born. What about a bit of 'ows 'yer father. I don't want to bang a 90 year old woman - how gross is that. Christ I need two lolly sticks and a couple of elastic bands to get it up now god knows what I'll need then - a fooking miracle.