Christmas approaches fast and not only are we faced with all the pressure of what presents to buy we have to decide what to eat for our celebration meal.
It seemed so easy when was younger; it was just a case of turning up and, as if by mum magic, the food appeared.
Now most of the responsibility is ours because we are supposed to be adults.
Another pressure of this festive season is what we should wear for the Christmas parties. The surgery that keeps my wife busy as a nurse for most of the week have decided upon a theme to aid us in our choice. This year we are encouraged to don 1920's attire.
My wife seems to have it sussed but I feel limited to bringing out my tuxedo again. In light of this I decided to add a little challenge to the ensemble by including a moustache. I could have bought one from the local fancy dress store but my wife suggested that I might grow one.
This appealed to me for a number of reasons. Firstly, I haven't had a muzzy for over twenty years and the idea of growing one intrigued me. Mrs M had always been negative toward the idea but now it was her suggestion.
The second reason is that when I was a teenager I had a handle bar moustache which I lost within two-weeks of going out with my future wife. I was proud of it but I wanted to impress her more than fighting to keep it.
I need to point out that back in the day such facial hair was fashionable and this was before the village people made it in the UK charts, just.
Anyway, for the last two weeks I have been holding back from shaving my top lip. As an extra bonus I have allowed the growth to form the shape of a handle bar.
At first Mrs M didn't notice the extra hair but when she did she was quick to voice her disapproval. It seems that the passage of time has not softened her feelings towards the look.
I tried to appease her by saying that it was only for a bit of fun but it didn't convince her and for two of three days she found plenty of opportunities to make comment.
I resisted for a while until eventually she broke my resolve. She looked at me for a moment and then said that she found it interesting that unlike the hair on my top lip the handlebars were growing out grey.
So without objection I have shaved them off and left the remains of what might turn out to be an authentic 1920's muzzy.
All I need now is a monocle, a hand full of hair gel, and a kiss curl. Bring on the Charleston!
Hairy Top Lip
Inked - the old fashioned rebellion
We spent most of Sunday discussing tattoos. Not in any academic way you understand. But in the context of our third daughter's wish to get inked.
She is in her early twenties and so is grown up enough to make her own decision; at least this is what we told ourselves as we looked at the proposed design.
Mrs M and I were married when we were twenty and back then we felt that we were old enough to make such a life-changing decision. Now, however, twenty-one seems still so very youthful.
And so it is that we gaze at the intricate autumn leaf pattern that will soon adorn our daughter's back and want to be both supportive and cautious at the same time.
We reminisced about our journey towards being married. The fact that we made our decision less than twelve months after beginning to court, (yes it once was called courting), amazed our girls and seemed to put the tattoo choice in some perspective.
Even so Mrs M couldn't resist suggesting that it might be better to have one that was a little smaller to start with but daughter number three was fully committed to the cause and was not for turning.
I was tempted to try a bit of reverse psychology and suggested that my bride had the same design done on her back in order to make a matching pair. I felt sure that this would put her off; after all they don't like to wear the same clothes as their mother never mind the same permanent body art. She saw through my test and so we moved on to discuss other matters.
Its not that I am against such things, in fact when done tastefully they can look rather good. It is just the sense of permanence that they suggest.
If you dye your hair bright pink then you can make a change with relative ease. If you grow a beard you are only one shave away from seeing you chin again.
Ink is for life; ask Robert Nesbitt. He is the Newcastle fan who had the image of footballer Andy Cole reproduced on his thigh only two days before his hero signed to join Manchester United.
There must be nothing worse than having an out-of-date design permanently placed on your epidermis. I suppose the only issue my daughter will face is that her autumn leaves might clash with summer.
A little later I suggested to my wife that I might get inked before my fiftieth birthday next year; joining in with the moment she asked me what I might have done. I thought for a while and then, in the light of my growing bald patch, my aching limbs, and my middle-aged spread, it occurred to me.
I will get a Tattoo of a Best Before Date on my forehead. If you are going to be out-of-date you might as well be upfront about it.
Change
I have reached the age when I have the need to utter phrases like ‘Is it Friday again, the weeks come around so quickly!’
This feeling is only beaten by the speed at which Mondays arrive signalling the end of the weekend and the return to work.
It seems that the progression of the years brings about an increase in routine fuelled by a distinct aversion to change.
We have friends who, noticing this development in their own lives, decided to do something about it. They had read a book advising them to add some variety to their lives by changing one thing that they did as part of their normal lives.
So, with full commitment to the cause, they shopped at a different supermarket for their weekly produce. Not exactly cutting edge thinking Anne and John (you know who you are!).
Having been in the new store only a few minutes they undid their new found appreciation of change and decided to go back to their usual retailer the following week. It seems that not all supermarkets fill their shelves in the same order and this can cause a serious amount of inconvenience to the previously happy shopper. How inconvenient that different things should be………different!
I understand their feelings towards change; it seems that it is easy to find comfort in the familiar. Occasionally I vary my route to work but it is normally due to traffic congestion rather than the search for variety.
When I was younger change seemed to be a welcome friend but now it breaks in to my normality as if to steal some of my comfort.
All this resistance seems at odds with the involuntary change that is happening to us all of the time. I would love to be able to slow down the increase in my waistline or the development of lines around my eyes but, this form of change happens without invitation.
I wonder whether the growing suspicion of all things that alter is a direct result of the feeling that we cannot slow down the aging process no matter how much we moisturise, exfoliate, or tone (probably in the wrong order but you get my point).
Perhaps the advice to bring some variety to our usual routine is useful in helping us to feel like we still have some control over our ever evolving lives.
So this week why not buy your fruit and veg from a different store, travel an alternative way to work, eat a new type of cereal for breakfast, or tune your car radio to another station.
As long as you can still get your cherry tomatoes, arrive at work on time, stave of the 11 o-clock hunger pangs, and put up with Radio One all will be fine.
On second thoughts I think I will keep things the same and listen to a Radio Station that plays music. Change is so overrated!
