On ageing.

So, it's the morning after the day following the one before. I sort of feel older and I sort of don't. Because it is of course ridiculous that you should actually feel any different on what is simply the anniversary of having been born - living, growing, it's such an organic process - it's the very definition of an organic process, in fact.

Mentally, though, you do start to think of yourself as being a year older. Closer to thirty than twenty, firmly ensconced in the mid-twenties, ageing, wearing out, tramping inexorably closer to that fateful day when wispy organs will just give out and people will queue up to eulogise whilst wondering what you might have left them.

I'm much more optimistic than those two paragraphs, I swear - I am full of joie de vivre, in fact I am almost overcome by the joie of viving. It's a constant joie to be a party to all that happens on this fair planet, a miraculous globule in the interstellar picnic. We truly are the life and soul of the party.