Quasimodo, ring those bells, son!

Old Father Time catches up with the best of us. As a sporty type of individual I still swat a few forehands on the tennis court and feint a few Mols turns on the five-a-sides pitches. The aches and pains from my exertions are put to the sword by that old placebo, Arnica Gel. Works wonders you know. Sorry for the product placement, we all have to make a living.

While still possessing my sporting prowess ( aye right- sub-editor comment) my concerns are of the more vain category. I mean you read about it and you even have a few chats with close friends about it but you never think it’ll happen to you. Then you believe that the mirror, mirror on the wall is lying. But you’re kidding yourself on. It’s a fact. You’ve just accumulated your first wrinkle.

Dearie me
I always thought I was going to be
footloose and wrinkle free

Forgoing the problem for the moment it’s always good to plant a rhyme in a blog. It’s a feel good thing. Poetry is close to my heart though like a thousand and one other things I’m dreadful at it.

So there it sat. A lone wrinkle. Looking for a buddy. Call me cruel if you want, from this day forth I will deny the crease a companion. There will be no more laughing or smiling from me. No grimacing or frowning. No eyebrow lifting a la Roger Moore. My face will be set in stone.

As I sit stony-faced with just the one wrinkle at my computer screen I’ll give you some news about my week. While visiting Tesco on the look out for Coca-Cola I ran across, not literally as I’m a dab hand with the dodgy wheeled shopping trolley I’m just like a rodeo rider that controls a bucking bull, an old school friend that turned the boys heads back in the day. Well, I say friend she actually knocked me back for a date in those adolescent days; a reason for this was never given, one can only guess.

This awkward moment from the past was forgotten as customary hellos were followed by customary how are you getting ons. It was a short conversation. She left and I stuttered on my way with the metal juddering pony contraption. It hit me how much the girl had changed in thirty years. Weathered, she had. She wasn’t the beauty she was then. To be fair, neither am I, what with my solitary wrinkle and all that.

The memories came flooding back of that unrequited love. I was Cyrano de Bergerac and she was Roxane, the red light of my life. The self pity I went through. Famously, George Costanza said that pity is very underrated. I’ll go along with that. Costanza knows best.

Around the time of my rejection I went through a phase of playing this song by Cliff Richard. After seeing the object of my youthful affections I went back to my old tune. It didn’t have the same emotional impact on me but seeing it in a new light I think it’s a cracking little number written by no less than Neil Diamond. And Cliff is my mum’s favourite.

So each night I’d dream that you’re mine
And wake each morning only to find
That I’m just another guy

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Tags: unrequited love

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