What is it about old age and grumpiness?
I know it’s a bit of a cliché but experience seems to bear it out. I am becoming somewhat less tolerant. My desire for violence is increasing exponentially. Things I used to ignore now are a major bone of contention.
I was down in the village yesterday. It was worse than mayhem down there. The place was packed with The Great Unwashed, all milling around and swinging their mobile phones around taking photographs. There were little girls all dressed up in their princess dresses and grannys driving around in their mobile scooters. I wanted to get something in the grocery shop but there was a fucking queue half way up the main street waiting to get in. Walking the pavement was next to impossible with the crowds just standing there gawking.
Now I am delighted for the village. Every shop was doing a roaring trade [except for my coffee shop which was closed] and they need to make up for the months of isolation. And the people were happy. They were all cooing and ahing at the set decorations. Deep down I was delighted for them too.
But I felt the rage.
These people were blocking up my village and preventing me from going anywhere. They were turning my life into a maelstrom of crowds and queues and blocking my every step. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough and I felt the totally irrational anger boiling up inside.
Back home, Herself was listening to the radio. There was some female on with the latest phenomenon – she was all but singing what she wanted to say in a squeaky voice peppered with “like”s and pronouncing “t” as “d” which is a trait of the new mid-Atlantic accent that currently prevails. I wanted to smash the radio.
Last night we watched television. This time it was the advertisements. Who the fuck thought it would be a great idea to aim an advertisement at adults using floppy cloth dolls and daft animation? And then there’s the bloke who tries to sell us stuff with a high pitched squeaky voice that sounds like he has been on the Helium? They all seem to think that adults should be spoken to as if we were five year olds. I wanted to smash the television.
It wasn’t just yesterday. It was a bad day, I grant but I fear I am becoming far less tolerant, or to put it another way, A Grumpy Old Man.
Is this just my reaction to an infantilised world or is it a genuine aspect of ageing?
Maybe I should go back to smoking pot?
Has anyone got vast quantities of pot they can lend me?