Sliding into middle age on a puddle of phlegm.

I was in an idyllic lakeside bach on a sunlit holiday with some friends and I woke up on the morning of my 25th birthday suddenly able to do Bill the Cat impersonations. It was the envy of the entire company (we were a simple people then, given to making our own fun in all its ribald lowness). In recent years I have been underutilising this precious gift. I have let it slip away. Now I am coughing up phlegm enough for three impersonators and yet my style is too mannered for even one.

Alas, how gravitas sneaks up on one without warning. It was but yesterday (well, Friday) when I was sagely agreeing that of the few things that are important even fewer require grim grown-upness, ah yes, often silliness is sensible and acting with propriety prescribes acting playfully when playing is proper.

Ack! Ththbbthtthbt!