D’ya hear yer man

It’s around about this time of year that people start making resolutions.

While the sentiment to reinvigorate oneself is to be admired, I’ve already got enough items on my ‘to do’ list as it is without giving myself a fresh list of targets to occupy my time.

Speaking of time, at this juncture last year my watch battery ran out and I vowed to get a new one so I could continue to tell the time via my wrist rather than by reading the screen of my mobile phone. A year has flown by and the watch is still reading the same time as it did 12 months ago.

A reminder that even without a functioning wristwatch, the ticking of time is relentless and unwavering.

It’s fair to say the passing of time is something which has occupied my thoughts a lot in recent months.

There’s no point hiding from it - I’m no spring chicken. I’d be lying if I said my age isn’t starting to play a big factor in my daily grind.

I used to be a finely-tuned machine, but in the past year every time I attempt physical activity I end up with a new injury, which generally involves me arriving for work on Monday morning with a limp.

My mind is also starting to let me down due to the ravages of the time.

For example on Sunday night I was talking to Karen about an upcoming concert I was looking forward to. I’d bought tickets online in November and remarked how I’d thought the tickets should have been posted out by now.

While it was in my head I checked my email for the correspondence I’d had from the promoter back in November. Upon opening the email I was shocked to learn that it was more than just confirmation that I’d bought two tickets, the email was a link that allowed me to print out the tickets at home.

That first shock was mild compared to the second shock I got when I discovered that the concert had taken place two days ago.

While accepting a portion of the blame myself, my overriding instinct was to write a strongly-worded letter to the promoter and possibly my local MLA concerning the fact that buying concert tickets isn’t what it used to be. Yet another indicator that I’m getting old.

And so, this year, instead of aiming to get fit, learn a new language or renovate a sailing boat, I’m going to set an attainable goal for a man who’s not getting any younger.

My New Year’s Resolution for 2013 is to embrace the ageing process. Or put even more simply, to get older.

That’s hardly a resolution, I hear you say. I suppose you’re right, but nonetheless I will not be deterred from my target.

In terms of my strategy for ageing I feel it’s important to pace myself - my intention is to take the ageing process one day at a time.

The last thing I want is to spend 29 days without growing any older then cram a month’s ageing into the subsequent 24-hour period. That sort of binge-ageing is what causes wrinkles.

If everything goes according to plan by the time the clock strikes midnight on December 31, 2013 I should be exactly 12-months older than I was at the corresponding time last year.

Should I fail in my resolution and end up either under or over-aged come 2014 then I can guarantee I’ll be limping in the direction of my local MLA with a strongly-worded letter concerning the fact that growing old isn’t what it used to be.

Too good to be true

I went into my local travel agent the other day to book a holiday. I was offered a great value family package to Spain which I snapped up without hesitation.

However when I got home and checked the bill I found I’d been charged for the same holiday twice.

I phoned the company and asked to speak to the manager to whom I said, “I was in your store today and booked a holiday with one of your travel agents, but they’ve ended up charging me for the same holiday twice.”

“I’m really sorry,” said the manager. “You must have been speaking to our double agent.”

Weekly teaser

A queue of adults are holding their kids, waiting for their turn. The children are handed (one at a time, usually) to a heavily disguised man, who holds them while another man shoots them. If the child is crying, the man tries to stop the crying before the child is shot. With that description in mind, can you guess what’s going on?