Something tells me I'm starting to get old. It starts in the morning. Where once I would spring out of bed with nary a second thought after a good 12 or 13 hours sleep, I now barely make it to 7 hours without needing to get up for the bathroom. If my back doesn't complain, my feet do and I stumble off on the long, chilly ramble to the loo.
To try to mitigate the twinges, I've bought an orthopaedic pillow. I make regular visits to a chiropractor and a sports massage therapist: they inflict more pain on my to try to make me forget the other dull aches.
I've got a huge wishlist for Christmas, but what would really make me happy is a new pair of slippers. My old ones are nearly worn out from shuffling around the house.
When I watch Have I Got News For You and they have the "publication of the week", the audience laughs at the dull and prosaic nature of the featured periodical. I just think that a magazine about plywood, or wool, or rawlplugs, sounds really interesting.
I've already started hoarding some magazines: Q, Viz, Private Eye, Amateur Photographer and other soft porn. Soon I will start to hoard old newspapers, building them into a labyrinthine, erm, labyrinth which will fill the house, waiting its moment to collapse, trapping me without food or water.
To try and fend off this ultimate humiliation I must make an effort to keep (get) fit(ter) and healthy(er). I've already started this effort by jiggling my leg up-and-down rapidly while sitting at my desk. And I have started walking to the elevator, instead of getting someone to push me there on my office chair. I should be fit as a butcher's dog within days.
Oh, hang on. It's nearly Christmas. OK - I'll start again in the New Year...