Add testosterone to digestive biscuits during 'manopause'
'What the world needs now, is love sweet love" - the words Burt Bacharach crooned back in 1965. But that was then, and this is now: fast forward half a century and what the world needs now, according to a recent barrage of radio ads, is testosterone.
The hormone replacement therapy is being pitched to the middle-aged man drifting limply into the (weary sigh) 'manopause' - the period when, rather than rage against the dying of the light, he would rather watch 'Antiques Roadshow' and be in bed by 9pm.
The diminishing pools of the manliest hormone of them all is evident everywhere you look: a quick browse through any newspaper will tell you that, contrary to Bacharach's ode to peace, testosterone is actually the only thing there is just too little of. Where are all the wars, the violence, the awfulness we associated with out-of-control masculinity? Clearly since feminism won we have been losing our sense of self, and these ads are a reminder that we need to return to our traditional, primal, ape-like functions.
Sure, high testosterone levels are linked to risky financial decisions, aggression and unnecessarily competitive behaviour, but we need to ensure that our gender is running at full throttle from the cradle to the grave. While our supply of it dwindles as we age, we also produce less of it when we fall in love and have kids, confirming that particular axis of evil as the average man's kryptonite. Testosterone injections are the way of the future - I demand that the State add testosterone to our digestive biscuits and then set up underground boxing rings for the recently retired to beat the snot out of each other, where the first rule of Lions Club is you don't talk about Lions Club.
But perhaps getting older and having part of you fade a little is OK. I once knocked myself out stagediving at a metal gig. Nobody bothered to catch me, and next thing I was down the back having water thrown in my face. It was a memory that came to me as I watched the BBC's Glastonbury coverage, having switched over from watching senior citizens trying to hide disappointment on the 'Antiques Roadshow'. I briefly thought 'when did I get old?' At what point did stagediving and festivals get superseded by antiques and back support? However, I did take solace from the fact that one of the headline draws this year was an acoustic set by a 68-year-old chap named Jeremy Corbyn.
Mr Corbyn's appearance at the festival was like a cheerful ending tacked on to one of those Irish water safety ads from the 1980s, where a family picnicking by a riverside suddenly realise an elderly relative has gone missing: 'Where's granddad? Oh there he is, on the stage at Glastonbury, enrapturing the youth'.
Mr Corbyn's rise has shown that, unlike President Sauron, the great orange orb ruling the United States, you don't need to be an aggressive testosterone pounding He-Man to win votes.
'Minors sesh' was rare high for Harry
Harry Potter turned 20 this week, and as the world celebrated the childhood guide to the dark arts it was a time to reflect on the post-Potter career of Daniel Radcliffe.
He has struggled to build a career outside Hogwarts, with the high point being back in 2012 when the world witnessed 'Harry Potter And The Dublin Minors Celebration Sesh', which saw him drink magical potions from the Tom Markham Cup.
Raise retirement age to stop taunts
A new report from Edinburgh University brings some worrying news for the average male office drone. The study found that men aged 45 to 54 - the hot zone for the (weary eye roll) 'manopause' - spend more time sitting down than 75 year olds, and that this intensely sedentary lifestyle is killing us.
Clearly, there is only one way of sorting this problem out - raise the age of retirement to 76. No more will the over-67s taunt us with their superior health, wisdom, and secretive Lions Club meetings, for they too will be chained to their desk.