Thirty-Three years ago, at one minute past midnight, in Lincolnshire England, I screamed at a doctor and took my first breaths in this cruel, yet to be plague-filled world.
I haven’t got a mass amount planned for my week other than not being at work. The older you get it’s time off to do absolutely nothing that seems the most appealing. I am going to the seaside to re-enact and old family holiday, but other than that my plans are to largely relax and stare grumpily at anything I disapprove of. I’m not quite into the ‘grumpy old man sat on a porch being mad at the world’ stage just yet, but such seasoned professionals don’t hit old age and adapt to their new role over night.
No, dear, readers, they put hours of practice in. That is what I shall be doing. Practicing for old age.
I’m also aware that the display pic for this post is probably absolutely massive. But can you really have too much of a good thing? And pineapples getting down and living their best lives is certainly a good thing.