Monday 23 October 2017

I am totally out of touch with what's cool in music and TV these days, it would seem

I'm really feeling my age at the moment and it's not particularly pleasant. I always had a feeling I wouldn't grow old gracefully but nor do I want to end up with my saggy boobs on display and my sorry arse squeezed into a pair of jeans that don't fit when I'm fifty.

I embarked on my annual get fit malarkey last week and joined a kettle bells class. This is a yearly event. I pick a new sport or activity each year and give it a go. It usually lasts about two weeks. I never lose weight and I never get fit.

So this year it was the turn of the kettle bell. I didn't even know what a kettle bell was but I knew the girl running the class and she is gorgeous so I thought maybe a bit of her gorgeousness would rub off on me.

What was I thinking?! I was the oldest, heaviest and most unfit person in the room. The rest of them were at least fifteen years younger with lithe, willowy frames and pert bums clad in skin tight lycra.

I was encased in a baggy grey tracksuit that I've had since Flash Dance was in the cinemas and probably only still fits because it was two sizes too big when I bought it.

By the time the warm up finished, I was on the floor gasping for water, whilst the rest of them were still swishing their pony tails and not even breaking a sweat. I hate swishy pony tails! In fact if I'd had the energy I'd have yanked one of them by it and swung them around until they begged for mercy.

But it's not just my decaying looks that I'm worried about. I also seem to be totally out of touch with what's cool at the moment.

My iPod playlist is, according to the eleven year old, 'an embarrassment' and he refuses to let me play any of my music in the car. 'You have to get out of the eighties,' he told me, switching off my Wham compilation in favour of David Guetta.

Then there's the telly. I watch a lot of telly. Theoretically this should be my area of expertise and yet I never saw one single episode of Breaking Bad and only watched Love/Hate for the first time last Sunday.

Actually I only watched three minutes of it because when the young fella shot the cat, I screamed hysterically and woke the kids.

Himself told me if I was going to carry on like that I'd have to watch it in another room because there was plenty more blood and guts to come. I didn't watch it because I don't get it.

Why would anyone want to watch a programme where youngsters shoot cats and every second word is F***? It makes me anxious just thinking about it.

So whilst many of my friends and loved ones are rapturously discussing Nidge and his evil gang of scumbags I'm sitting there silently longing to be watching Downton Abbey with a cup of tea and a kitkat.

It would appear my 'cool'days are well and truly over.

Wexford People

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