This is the diary of a bemused Boomer. He is post crash, post covid, post libido and, often, past caring. Teetering on the tightrope between the demands of his family and his urge to have more ‘me time’, he is trapped in No Man’s Land, a victim of the inter-generational war. Ecce homo, ecce Boomer, ecce Man in the Middle.
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I’m at a festival called Pigs in the Park. Or something similar. It’s one of those faux festivals, where there’s no sex or drugs or rock ‘n’ roll. It’s as close to the real thing as a tour of Madame Tussaud’s. The scent of marijuana has been replaced by the smell of BBQ pulled pork.Continue reading “Pigs in the Park”
I’ve been hanging on the telephone for 45 minutes waiting to speak to the Office of the Public Guardian. Time is lounging in the corner of my study watching me and lazily picking his nose. Should he should cut his losses now and head off to the Bowls Club for the early evening grudge gameContinue reading “Hanging on the telephone”