Reflections and reality

It the night before a birthday I find it hard to believe.

When I was age 20 I could fairly easily conceive of being age 75. Or 80. Or even 100.

I could (just about) make a leap of faith and manage to realise I would be 30 one day.

But never in all my born days did I think I would be 55. And I still can't. Its a horrible age- I saw it described the other day as being "marooned on the far edge of middle age." Besides which - a blink ago I was 50.

Shucks

So here is a selfportrait of me upstairs at the Alex in Felixstowe, contemplating futurity and the vain delusions of existence..

Patrick, behind me, is rather more sanguine.

But then he's younger