Not 39 Forever: No.17 - The Reprise

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Well I promised 40 blogs in 70 days and I managed ermmmm....17 and that my friends sums it up in a nutshell. I'm a let down. But only 'cos I set such high standards. I'll not knock it on the head mainly because Mudhuts needs good writing, and writing about football does my absolute fucking head in at the minute, not that I'm saying that I'm a good writer but unlike 99.99% of the population, I can at least be arsed having a go.
"So how did the day go?" I hear you impatiently ask like a toddler jumping on the back of a bus seat. You need to understand how the week went I suppose, not that it's ended yet. You see, last week I handed my notice in at work cos I've got another job closer to home and had my "official" 40th Do at Wigan Athletic v Liverpool.
Beer festival before and after and an absolute cabbage was how it went. I'd been warned about it following my state last year but came bouncing in during the early hours and slept all day Sunday. I am truly a pathetic drinker these days. Someone who keeps talking bollocks way beyond the point he knows he's had enough. Apparently, it was only the last hour I was really gone but whatever happened when I got in, the missus woke up the next day and found a kebab in the hall still wrapped. I think I did a little bit of sick in the bed during the night as well. Not a full on job, just a bit coughed out.

A girl I used to work with told me about a doctor mate of hers who said that there is a point in your life when your brain just flicks a switch and says "Right - I've had enough of you getting pissed, you're on your own now" and that previous invincibleness you had in your twenties when you used you go out 4 nights a week and remember everything deserts you. You reach a point when you become dangerous and hit a point where you easily become a swaggering, stumbling, slurring fool after just a moderate amount of alcohol. I've gone past that, for all my previous bravado. Folk who ten years back I could drink under the table are now keeping a careful eye on me in a Lineker "kkep an eye on him" about Gazza Italia 1990 manner. Yeah the lights went out and my brain said "you're on your own now you silly tit" about an hour after full time. Throw a spineless 0-4 home defeat into the mix and you'll guess how my mood was. Sleeping in bed all day Sunday was a regular occurrence in my twenties but in my thirties, even more so I've got a toddler in tow is like cheating a child out of a day of her life. When a two year old is asking you why you've been in bed all day it's impossible to feel any lower.

I'd booked the week off though, went to Ribby Hall with the bairn and missus. Never even heard of the place before but everyone says "ooh it's lovely there" didn't see the point myself like but the wife knows right as ever. I've eaten and drunk and spa'd and swum myself daft and even Blackpool ain't bad when it's not infested with wankers. I love the way the locals say it like "Black-pull" not "Black-poo-ull" the accent is a little less harsh than in Preston or Blackburn. Been the Zoo, on the beach and Lytham and everything and generally fucked work off.

How to spend a 40th birthday. Well here's how mine transpired. After spending the week at Ribby Hall, I awoke at nine with wife and daughter, felt like dogshite after only three pints of Amstel and a couple of bottles the night before. The little one gave me a card and I rolled over and said "might have another hour". 11 o'clock, record lie in - still feeling like shit but mood slightly improving. I hope at least one gentleman of my age will nod when I tell you that the past week has been like any week: I can switch in no time at all from being a manic depressive to thinking how wonderful life is in a split second. But I've not done too bad. As the missus keeps saying - how did you spend your 30th birthday? On an away coach trip to Peterborough with a load of serial beakheads.

Boating on the lake, dinner (lunch in the clubhouse), two hours of swimming and arsing about in the pool, a pint or two - a nice meal where our Jess behaved wonderfully then I found myself on the dancefloor along with a human sized duck dancing Gangnam style with my two year old in front of some chubby hostess wearing trackies just that bit too tight, you know where her thighs are bursting out, that sort of figure. Stop it Jimmy, you're an old man! She's right my missus when she says she saved me. She's no Jehovah's witness like but she's right.

UTD WIFE KIDS IN THAT ORDER that flag said on telly this week. Probably right and that but each to their own. The owner is probably mid-forties, single and lives with his mam, either way it's not me. It may be 'cos I follow a provincial club and by default that makes me less passionate, it's probably just the way I'm made but I disagree. The last seven days have proved it. It's not always easily being a family man. I'm a selfish pig at the best of times and whereas I always wanted kids (probably purely to pro-create and produce a mini-me rather than wanting to be part of a family environment) I've learnt what's best. We're all different and that but I'm trying, still trying to do what's right. It's not a sham, it just takes a bit of effort doesn't it? WIFE KIDS FOOTBALL PIES ALE WRITING SLEEPING is how it goes for me, the forty something bore.........

Yours Jimmy, 40 years and 7 days



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