Budgeting for a mid-life crisis

Times are hard.

Everyone knows that.

The world is in financial crisis and we all have to tighten our belts and take care with our money.

This, then, is a really bad time to be having a mid-life crisis.

No nifty little sports car for me, no jetting off on mad trips to Ibiza or Ayia Napa and definitely no twenty year old mistress with a penchant for champagne and spa hotels.

No – cash is too strapped for all that so I’m going to have to dodge old age on the cheap.

This mid-life crisis is going to have to come in on a budget.

Which is where the scrape on my elbow comes in, not to mention the looks of utter despair my wife keeps giving me.

It all started innocently enough – isn’t that always the case? We went for a bike ride. Last Sunday afternoon, the sun was out and we had nothing pressing to be getting on with so off we went.

It was lovely. The kids were on surprisingly good behaviour, cycling safely for a change instead of making us wince with every crazy twist and random turn they usually make. Jo had let me choose the destination and plan the route (a rare treat, I’m not usually trusted with decisions) and the weather was smashing. We went to a place called Paradise Wood on Google but Neptune Wood on the local signpost, which promised willow sculptures and walks in the woods. It was about a four-mile ride to the place, which was enough for little Jamie. Actually as a round trip and including the extra riding we did while we were there I worked out that Jamie’s stumpy little legs managed nine and a half miles on his 14-inch wheels and no gears.

We found the wood easily and the boys loved it. In yet another rare moment, Jo nodded approval at my choice. I was getting things right and I think that is what started making me feel a little giddy.

The walk in the woods turned out to be wheelchair friendly, which, roughly translated, means it was also cycle friendly. The walk turned into a ride through the woods on what the boys decided was a racetrack.

It was around about this point that I forgot I was 41.

The boys were still playing in the willow ‘boat’ and Jo was flapping around taking pictures. I was sent ahead to recce the route. Alone. On my bike. On a racetrack.

Oh dear.

Not only did I decide I was considerably more talented at speeding around bends than I actually am, but then I came up with an idea, one I haven’t had for a very long time.

Actually I think it’s about 25 years since I tried doing a wheelie.

I don’t just mean a little hop style wheelie because no man on the planet can ride a cycle without doing at least one of those, no I mean a full on pedalling along for a while - wheelie.

That would be a buzz that I haven’t felt for a very long time.

I got some speed up; leant back pushed hard on the pedal and pulled up the handlebars in a whirl of excitement, wondering just how many metres I’d be able to keep it up for. This was going to be bloody impressive.

The wheel came up.

The wheel kept going up.

When the wheel went over my head I started to sense that things weren’t entirely going to plan.

On the scale of epic fails I’d say this was a 10. It was pretty messy.

At the sound of a bike smashing into a bush upside down and the yelp of a grown man with a fresh graze, Jo turned and came over to see what was going on.

To find me on the floor laughing my head off.

“I was trying to do a wheelie!” I managed to admit between gasps for air. Jo looked at me blankly for a couple of minutes, blinking only twice and then turned silently away. The sheer nostalgic pleasure of crashing your bike on a failed wheelie was completely lost on my wife. Maybe girls never do that when they are young. Boys do – all the time and I seriously have no idea how old I was the last time I wiped out on a failed bike stunt – 14, 15 maybe? What a rush!

So there you go. One failed wheelie maybe all I can afford right now but it might just be enough. No, sod it – I’m going to go out again this weekend and try riding non-handed. I haven’t tried that since I was 17. I used to be unbelievably good at it - in fact from the age of 13 up until I got a car, I don’t think I ever even touched my handlebars. Surely riding non-handed is just like….    riding a bike? I mean it will come back to me won’t it? Since I started riding a cycle again a few years ago it hasn’t actually occurred to me to let go of the grips but maybe now its time to release my inner teenager.

What could possibly go wrong?

So much has been happening recently, I just don’t know where to start…

In fact I do, because it’s Tuesday and there are rules.

And rules have to be followed – or do they?

So the first thing I’ll do is point you to In The PowderRoom where The Regular Guy is discussing the moment in all experienced married men’s lives when we discover the awful, shocking and distasteful truth that porn lies.

I know – it doesn’t sound likely, but there you are – you heardit here first.

That leaves me with a few posts still to write which I shall endeavour to get out this week. Here are some teasers.

You need to know about my current mid-life crisis that I’m trying to have on a budget.

You need to know about my painful schoolyard moment as I tried to make myself as small as possible.

I should probably talk about football with the boys.

And you certainly ought to be told about the school disco.

So much to write – so little time.

Until then – please go read about the rules.

The Weight Watchers Gang Show

The band played the first few bars of a Take That medley as the curtain twitched to open with the lights about to shine.

I was in for a treat in Oxford’s cosy New Theatre; this was going to be a show to remember.

Okay – I guess 1 out of 2 ain’t bad. I can at least remember it.

When I was very young I was a Cub and a Scout and one of the things I did in that time that will stay with me forever was The Gang Show. For those who have never heard of it The Gang Show is an amateur production put on by Cubs, Scouts, Brownies and Guides every year, up and down the country. Usually it is an amalgamation of local troupes.

I loved being a part of that show. It was an absolute buzz.

So when we got a chance to take our boys to see this years’ show I snapped it up. They both only started late last year – Jamie at Beavers and Daniel briefly at Cubs before moving up to Scouts. I thought if they saw the show now then they would be up for auditioning for next years’.

Sometimes we cannot help but try and impose the things we loved when we were young onto our kids.

Because of all of the above I found myself sitting in a theatre surrounded by kids waiting to watch a completely non-professional show full of children that I didn’t know. An element of doubt started to creep into my mind.

The lights came up and there, filling the stage, were a load of adults. I looked at my wife and then back at the stage because these were no ordinary adults. These were really big ones.

It seems that the first qualification you need to be a Scout leader in Oxfordshire is to be very, very – well, cuddly? The stage was one set of scales short of a full Weight-Watchers meeting.

Then they started singing.

I kind of wished they hadn’t.

Now don’t get me wrong on this one – these people are brilliant. I’m in awe of people who so selflessly give up their time and volunteer to help young folk out in the way that they do. I don’t do it – I couldn’t – even if I am chunky enough. It’s a damned hard thing that they do every week at their local troupes, and then these guys have gone that extra step and come onto a reinforced stage to sing so badly that the kids who came on next sounded good.

They are selfless people and I want that totally understood and thanked before I go any further taking the P*** out of them!

They were only on the stage briefly before the real stars of the show came out and took over having cleverly whispered to the one closest to the wings that there was some sponge cake in the dressing room.

The show was, in fact, very good. For an amateur production it was very professional. The kids did a great job and their parents deserve to be extremely proud. I did feel, though, that the adult helpers took far too much stage time up throughout the show. Be in the back of the chorus guys and have one funny all adult act by all means – that is the way of things with a Gang Show but you guys turned up in nearly every scene, right at the front.

I suspected that some of them were enjoying their moment more than the kids.

The scariest act was one that had me doing breath tests on myself to check I wasn’t drunk. I know I shouldn’t mock – there was so much work put into it but.. but...

Far too ‘sexily’ dressed young girls akin to Big Fat Gypsy Weddings characters, singing ‘Holding out for a hero’ as occasionally four adult men – no wait, three adult men and one adult lady with a fake moustache – did muscle poses and one adult woman on roller skates was swung around for no apparent reason whatsoever, was just too much to take. And no, there was absolutely no way I could make that sentence any shorter.

I know it was in humour – but I just couldn’t work it out at all! If the roller-skating lady could have stayed out, or if they could have used one of the actual men to take the place of the fake man then I could have taken it. As it was I was beat.

It was good though – really. I was very impressed and I know my boys were. Their eyes were wide open with excitement throughout the show (Well Jamie got a bit stroppy when he found out the sweets weren’t getting opened until half time but otherwise...). Hopefully I haven’t knackered up their chances of getting in next years’ show by writing this because they both want to try for it.

It is a brilliant chance for kids to get up on stage and I wouldn’t mock that for the world – or the people who bust a gut to give them that chance.

Well, maybe I’d mock them a little – it’s what I do.

boys

Can’t talk now – every time I try and walk away, my boys start fighting. Hang on….

Boys.

Do girls do this? If you have a little girl can you still get on with jobs about the house?

I mean properly.

Can you talk on the phone or sit at a laptop if you have girls? I know I – oh hang on…

It’s okay; I think I’ve figured out how to get on without hearing them killing each other – music.

Why I didn’t think of putting my headphones on earlier I don’t know. There’s no dispute that Florence can’t help me ignore.

Remind me again why I had kids?

 

On Sunday I took my new Asics out for a test-run and couldn’t believe the difference they made.

My shins love them. Actually I think my shins have been having special thoughts about them, there’s no way I’d leave them in the same room together un-chaperoned, let’s just put it that way. They certainly aren’t going up to my bedroom to listen to the Top 40 on the Radio; I can tell you that for nothing.

They do need to loosen a little at the sides as at the moment they are rubbing a little and did give me blisters, but I believe they will soften.

The thing is – just two months after I started this challenge and with a whole month to go – I just went out and ran 9Km, that’s over 5 and a half miles! I’m so proud of me I could burst.

Now don’t be too impressed, it took a while. I think I was out running for most of the afternoon; it certainly felt like at least one Season changed while I was out there but the thing is I kept going. I may have been running slower than Stephen Hawkins with a flat battery but I was running.

And so I am very happy today. My feet are mildly blistered and my thighs are aching constantly but my shins never felt a thing. My shins are laughing. I know I can do the distance and now I just need to find some speed so that I can finish the run in the same month I start it in.

April 12th – 10Km for Cystic Fibrosis – bring iton!

Childbirth is NOT for ladies

Hello and welcome to another weekend – fan-blooming-tastic!

Firstly, an apology. Posts have been a little light recently and also I haven’t been doing much in the way of reading & commenting about the Interweb, if you haven’t noticed then you aren’t paying close enough attention!

There is nothing deep about this lapse other than things are a little hectic at work at the moment, meaning that I have too much other stuff to be doing. I’m finding I’m too tired to do any decent writing on the trains or to sit with a laptop on my knee all night. To attempt to pay some semblance of attention to your wife, watch TV AND read blogs when you are already affected by a multi-task blocking Y chromosome and tired is proving too difficult.  Priorities are having to be taken, and family time has to come before hobby time I’m afraid.

But don’t worry (starting a paragraph with “but” always feels a little naughty but fun – like pizza) I will be restoring normality just as soon as I am sure what is normal anyway (Thanks Douglas Adams).

I’ll be back into the swing of things soon enough and will be reading and writing properly again in no time.

Of course, where Glen’s Life is a hobby, In the Powder Room is very much a professional commitment (which is handy because it’s a fun one), I’m not able to use laziness as an excuse over there in case they get lazy with the pay.

Hence this Tuesday, a new style of Regular Guy post was born as I found myself going head to head with the excellent Bearded Iris. We collaborated to produce two articles on the same subject but from opposing genetics.

We both wrote about childbirth – in all its dramatic glory. 

I wrote from the male’s point of view observing the event –please click here to read.

Iris wrote from the woman’s hilarious sausage based point of view – please click here to read.

I think the experiment went well – what do you think?

Actual posts actually here returning soon – promise.

Happy Birthday, guys

For 41 years you have been loafing about on the end of my legs wondering when you were going to get something back for your effort.

Today may be all of my body’s birthday really but this year I'm dedicating the day to just you two.

Happy Birthday, feet.