This Man's Life: Caution will not help - only chance will save you from the cruel scythe
A terrible thing came to pass last Monday. (It wasn't that Donald Trump reached a new low on the stage at Hofstra University - and showed himself to be the champion w***er of the 21st Century.) I turned 49. It wasn't a significant birthday like 50. Maybe it felt worse almost for that reason, its ordinariness. Suddenly, I felt really old. Or really not young. Not morbidly so, but you do start to feel that you have reached an age where things don't occur, they re-occur.
I was in London for the millionth time for work and, millionth time or not, I was lost in the Tube station. And lost in my head. Mind the gap. Mind the gaping human void, more like.
Later that night, when I got to Heathrow to catch my flight home, the absurdities of existence in Terminal 2 made my spirit falter further: you need to show your boarding card to the fuss-bucket in the shop to buy a packet of crisps. Whatever about healthy snack options, patience was never my strong suit.