Father time has bitten my bum!.......

It’s official. I have been officially diagnosed with ‘old age’. How did I arrive at this fait accompli? I have come to the stunning realisation that I now suffer from one of the many curses of the aged, I can genuinely no longer understand African Americans!

As I am sure I have mentioned in previous blogs, I unfortunately, and regrettably suffer from the odd bout of depression. The symptoms of which consist of a number of elements:- lethargy, de-motivation, slight paranoia, feelings of hopelessness, lack of energy, and undoubtedly the worst of the bunch, rapid, and unpredictable mood swings.

Now those that know me, will no doubt by now be falling off of their chairs, and proclaiming with a hefty dose of sarcasm, that I must suffer from depression 24/7! To all of you, yes I know it can appear that way, but there is the everyday grumpiness, and then there is the real McCoy.

It is the mood swings that I find so alarming, this hints at the condition known as ‘Bipolarity’ or bipolar. In the good old days this was called manic depression, basically big ups, and crushing downs, but progress being what it is, nothing is allowed to stay the same, so it’s now known as bipolarity.

I realise that ever since Stephen Fry “came out” and announced he was a sufferer of this affliction, the whole world has gone bipolar mad. Quite frankly you are nobody these days "Darling" if you are not bipolar, throw in a food intolerance as well, and you have the full gamut. I however, am not a feckless celebrity who solicits attention by feigning the latest mental disorder, or a footballer, who uses it to try to excuse his violence in nightclubs, I do seem to get it for real. Thankfully, it only seems to be mild, and not the massive swings that some sufferers endure. Never the less, it can be most unpleasant for all concerned.

The latest ‘bipolar incident’ occurred just last night, whilst trying to stir fry some noodles in fact. The bastard things kept sticking to the wok (culinary tips greatly received) This would usually cause some annoyance, but would normally only manifest it’s self as ‘tutting’ or scowling, but as I am suffering from the “Black dog” as Sir Winston Churchill called it, the result was a broken wooden spoon, an evening of silence, and a very close brush with divorce! This may sound amusing, but trust me…….it wasn’t.

I have gone off track a little, back to the old age. Yes, the way I discovered that I am old was thus. As I mentioned, one of the other symptoms of depression is a seemingly complete lack of motivation. This usually results in spending brain rotting amounts of time in front of the television. This practice has been made even easier lately, due to the acquisition of ‘Sky Plus’.

This morning thus far, I have watched ‘Superships’ - ‘Airwolf’ - ‘Thunderbirds’ and last but by no means least…….’Ricky Lake’ I’m not proud of it, and quite frankly I feel dirty. The same sort of feeling that you get post, wanking over a wheelchair bound, fourteen year old girl dressed as a nun on the internet! …….That one even made me wince! and let me assure you, that was a joke, and in no way would I ever use nuns for masturbatory purposes!

Phew, did I get away with that one? If I am dragged from my house by the local constabulary with my computer in a plastic bag, then I will have to join Messrs Ross and brand in the icy cold tundra that is “Too far land”! Anyway back to the relative safety of Ricky.

Yes we had the usual suspects, an African American woman, who I found out only after putting the subtitles feature on, was annoyed with her husband for a careless bout of adultery. Pre subtitles it went something like this…….

“Yo dog, yo bin messin’ wit dat two bit ho. Why yoo doo dat, why yoo doo dat?”
It was at this point that I pondered, does your average African American have the memory capacity of a goldfish? They do seem to feel the need to repeat themselves. She went on…….
“Why yoo wanna ride dat fat old asssss, when yo can be wit yor old laydeeeee. Dats a booty bitch, dats a booty.”

She proceeded to shake her posterior at her husband, who was doing that flicking his fingers thing, and laughing. This was a very hazardous exercise, considering the amount of bling he was adorned with. Any piece of that could have shot off at any given moment, and taken someone’s eye out. I am surprised that health and safety allows this practice to continue. She went on…….

“Yo gotta kick dat mudda to da cerb homey, I’m telling’ ya, yo ain’t getting’ back in ma bed still stinkin’ o dat fat assessed bitch.”
At this point in the proceedings, the crowd inexplicably turned on her, and started chanting something or other, to which she retorted with the timeless classic…….
“You don’t know me, you don’t know me”……..Thirty seven times!

It was at this juncture, that I realised that I had joined the legions of old people that inhabit sofas up and down the land saying…….
“What did he say, what did he say?”…….