Under Eeyore's Blanket

So, how do you know if you're having a full-on mid-life crisis, or whether you've just tripped and landed on your arse in the gloomy patch? This is the question that has been blighting my days, and haunting my nights for quite a while now, triggered, I suspect, by my impending 40th birthday. "Pish and pshaw, 40 is the new 25!" comes the cry from battled hardened 40 somethings everywhere. Oh yeah? Lets examine the facts....

Fashion:

 Whilst fashion is not a thing I have ever been a slave to (comfort knocks 7 shades out of style every time in my book), I was horrified at the news from London Fashion Week that Holly Fulton (she's a designer apparently) was presenting a 70's inspired collection....Woah! Let me stop you right there! I was there madam. I remember it the first time around, and while the 70's may have been many things, the height of sartorial elegance they were not! Polyester catsuits in shades of brown and orange (actually, pretty much everything in the 70's came in shades of brown and orange, as I recall), wing collars, flares and the Afro-perm (and that's only the men). Anything bad enough to have been superceded by the big hair and bigger shoulder-pads of the 80's must have been truly shit. It's in the past. Leave it there.

Music:

 I confess I have just had to Google this week's Top 40. If there's anything in there that I know, rest assured it's because Chris Evans has played it in a moment of madness on radio 2! It is my firmly held opinion that Miley Cyrus should be sent to her room, Lady Gaga should be on some kind of medication and Psy should be horse-whipped.

Television:

  Jesus, what a lot of bloody awful chod! I am not even going to start about the neuro-necrotising drivel that passes for children's television these days. Far too depressing. If it's not QI, Top Gear, Mock The Week or Buzzcocks chances are I won't be watching. The occasional nature programme or crime/costume drama, if it's well done, may have me hooked, but these never run for long enough, and when they come to an end I am left feeling curiously bereft. 

 These days if I announce to my other half that I'm aching, wet and very dirty it's only because I've been gardening in the rain. If I'm lucky he'll run me a nice hot bath with plenty of Radox salts. 

I'd rather drink red wine than white. 

I'd rather go to a country pub than a disco.

I'd rather have cheese and biscuits than pudding.

I'd rather have Stephen Fry than Fry's chocolate (shit!Can you still get Fry's chocolate?)

Let's be honest....I'd rather be nearly 25 than nearly 40!