This is the diary of a bemused Boomer. He is post crash, post covid, post libido and, in many ways, past caring now that his life has become little more than the stale meat in an inter-generation sandwich. Trapped on the tightrope between the demands of his family and his urge to have more ‘me time’, this is what it’s really like in Boomersville. Ecce homo, ecce Boomer, ecce Man in the Middle.
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As a child, I hated watching ‘Last of the Summer’s Wine’, the BBC sitcom about old men with nothing much to do with their lives but fool around. Now, I’m living it. Once upon a time, I pitied Compo, the clownish one of the trio. Wrapped in tweed and a cloth cap, his relentless joieContinue reading “Escape to the country? Why Not?”
Mother is sitting in a chair by the window. ‘I’ve been crying,’ she says. ‘Why?’ ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’ ‘I always come on Fridays.’ ‘Is today Friday?’ I nod. ‘Oh. Are you late?’ ‘I’m on time.’ She raises her eyebrows. ‘The doctor was here just now.’ ‘What did he say?’ Can sheContinue reading “Mother is crying by the window.”
I’m going to apply for the job as the head of the new Brexit Unit. That’s right, I want to be Lord Frost’s Brexit Svengali. I have no idea what Brexit is about but then neither does Boris Johnson, and Lord Frost, who we all thought was meant to be the expert, seems to have run outContinue reading “I want to be Lord Frost’s Brexit Svengali”
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