I grow old. . . I grow old. . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
-- T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Dearest Friends, today was my birthday. And though I am that little bit older, I do like to think that I will not end up as Eliot's Prufrock, embittered by and regretful of an inauthentic life of paralysis. Yes, so much has happened, and there have been many avenues, now closed, that I did not explore. And I wonder what would have happened if I had. But I look ahead, and am convinced there are still adventures as yet unhad, and opportunities to be uncovered and seized.
It was a low-key day; I spent a good deal of it up on the garage roof unblocking drains and sweeping tree litter. But Dearest Wife made for me a most fantastic chocolate-almond cake spiced with cardamom and chili. And Little Man made me a card in which he drew his first ever recognizable representation: a snowman. A low-key day, but a good one.
Do I hear you ask, "How old?" Well, here, let me give you some clues - first one to get it right gets a copy of the cake recipe.
Donovan - Hurdy-Gurdy Man (buy here)
The Beatles - Revolution (buy here)
William Shatner - Mr Tambourine Man (buy here)
I fear that this day in history is actually a bit of a musical desert. The best I can come up with is that I share a birthday with Bananarama co-founder Sara Dallin. But I am pleased to say she's several years my senior. Was that bitchy? Bop-bop-shoobee-doo-aaah...
Bananarama with Fun Boy Three - Really Saying Something (buy here)
But the real question is: do I now qualify as a dirty old man??