Was talking to a mate the other day.
Who said he had a joke.
Sighing (it’s an opening line making a chap of my rapier like wit shudder every time it is uttered), I leant on the top rail of the fence at the yards and said “let’s hear it”.
“At my age,” the self-appointed comic told me, “rolling out of bed each morning is the easy part. Getting off the floor is a whole other story”.
It wasn’t ’til he fell about laughing I realised that was his joke.
Because I was about to get stuck into him for peeping through my bedroom window.
Reaching midlife, let me tell you, is no picnic. Even if 70 is the new 60.
Of course I hadn’t fallen onto the floor – not that morning anyway.
But no question, when I do rise and start to get going, I remind even myself I resemble a bowl of Rice Bubbles as I lurch towards the bathroom, with every part of me going ‘snap, crackle and pop’ until all the assorted bits and pieces kind of settle into place and start to wake up.
Just lately I’ve noticed I can also be a little short-fused from time to time. I hear you saying that’s not possible Whacker, not you, but I’m human, after all. So, yes, once or twice I have snapped.
The missus had the cheek to suggest a couple of times in the past week (bloody school holidays, so we suddenly had more grandlings than sheep around the house and yards) that I am becoming somewhat curmudgeonly. Other words she has been blithely tossing about (without a dictionary) include cantankerous, irascible, peevish and, on Tuesday, a tad tetchy.
“My dear,” I responded, with all the dignity one could muster, “I am not a grumpy old man, I am simply being honest”.
Trust me, after being locked up with these kids you’d want to be pretty bloody honest, too.
With few exceptions this brood have helicopter parents, they get a ribbon for even waking up on their own – they are all winners, in everything (even when they’re last). There are, simply, no negative words in their orderly, sheltered inner city lives. Everything is negotiated, and if those talks aren’t going well there is always the ever-reliable tantrum. Always the deal maker.
Except at our place.
And really folks, it’s like shooting the proverbial flathead in a barrel.
Because these little guys have very little social skills, they’re too busy being ‘connected’ on their little screens. Leaving their country cousins bemused. I mean what kid prefers to sit spellbound in front of a phone (for hours, mind you) when he could be out on a dirt bike tearing up the countryside?
And some of the city kids are right little whingers, always arguing about who would watch what, and when.
I told them to stop the squabbling and pay attention or they would miss all their shows.
At which point they all fell about laughing. “What do you mean miss, Whacker?” they chimed in chorus. “We can stream them later.”
“We’re not going fishing,” I replied. “What time is the first show so you can get settled down?”
Now it was howls of laughter.
Stream it turns out, no longer has anything to do with a narrow, moving body of water which may, or may not contain fish – although it will most certainly contain bloody carp.
Apparently it has something to do with being able to watch a movie anytime you want, and wherever you are if you have one of those poky screens which seem to rule their lives.
Crikey.
“Blimey kids,” I said after hearing their explanation. “In my day, if you missed your favourite show, you missed it – forever.”
That’s when it all got out of control, with the little smart alecs pouring into the kitchen to tell their grandmother the Whacker was making up stories. One went so far as to suggest I was lying to them.
The missus didn’t hesitate, I was guilty as charged (as always): “Get off out of it you silly old bugger, and stop filling their heads with your rot”.
I tried to explain, ducked a flying wooden spoon and bolted.
Hiding in the shed, as I sorted out some non-digital tools, tidying things a little bit here and there, I reflected on the afternoon.
Truth, I have discovered, is no defence against a grandmother roused.
And truth has little impact on a new generation which lets the algorithms do all the thinking.
No wonder we look like needing artificial intelligence, we don’t seem to have a lot of the normal stuff anymore.
