Old age is accelerating fast upon me !

middle , nay, old age ! is creeping up on me, I have finally made the automotive move that confirms I am now on the slippery downward decline into pipe, slippers and being a'bed by ten o/clock every night !

Tomorrow, my Aston Martin goes, only to be replaced by a Bentley.  The fact that that the Bentley is seventeen miles per hour faster than the Aston ( 202 MPH as against 185 MPH ), helps soften the pain a tad or two,  but even so !

OK, I have made the change in order to permit my teenage daughter to sit more comfortably in the rear seats, and I will be able to get the family luggage plus plus my guns/fishing rods/ skis / dogs in the 

boot ( trunk, to you Americans ! ), but even all of this is insufficient compensation for no longer being able to answer when asked " What are you driving nowadays ? ",  " Oh, it's an Aston Martin, don't you know ? ".

Or when the Memsahib says " Darling, what car are we taking when we go out to dinner tonight ? "

" Mmm, I think we'll take the Aston ".    Worse still, though, is when I recall the salesmans answer to my question when I bought my first Aston Martin. I asked him about the need to be careful when parking - 

" Oh ", he replied , " there's no problem there, people just don't vandalise Aston Martins ! "......and, sure enough, they don't !   I wonder if the same is true of Bentleys ?

Let me tell you something about my health. Suffice it to say that I maintain a large stock of those little plastic bags with the press strip closure. Every time I go away I staple together ten of them in a number sufficient for my vacation, each little bunch being one days consumption of drugs ( some even have medication in them ! ).   Each little bag is sequentially numbered and marked with a slogan such as

" Take with water before breakfast "  etc etc . I then sort out my daily drug supply of pills, capsules, tablets and caplets in the appropriate manner and then bag the little buggers up accordingly. 

Actually, I don't bother with all this frigging about any more. Not because I've given up the will to live, but because I'd rather play a round of golf in the time it takes. I get my teenage daughter, Carenza, to do it for me. I've been able to persuade her to do this by saying that this task is of critical importance and that only she has the concentration and dexterity to do it. She believed this initially, but has now come to recognise that it is just a tiresome task that I have offloaded upon her. I know this is so because she threatens to replace my medication with a mixture of her contraceptive pills, Mummies menopause capsules and tablets for worming the dogs.