Growing Old (Revisited)

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Circumstances have dictated that a few of the guys and myself have not met up recently, so we got together in town yesterday for a coffee. Crikey, talk about crock and bloody roll.

I must admit that it was down to me for starting the ball rolling. I minced into the café as though I had a butt plug up the jacksie, courtesy of my chronic bad back.

‘Aye aye, here he is, fucking Long John Silver’, somebody blurted out. ‘Hampton Court, is it?’.

‘No I always walk this way’ says I. ‘Fuck off, me back’s giving me gyp again’.

‘Tell me about it’ says somebody else. ‘I was playing golf last week but had to throw in the towel after eight holes. Me knee was the size of a melon. Bastard arthritis. The doc’s got me on these new tablets…’.

And so it went on.

‘Where’s Harry anyway?’. ‘Oh he phoned to say he can’t make it. He’s got an appointment at the hospital to get his Chalfonts checked out again. Thinks he needs an op’.

‘I’ve had a bit of a chest infection. Doc had me cough up a lump into a little cup and sent it away. I’m on antibiotics…’.

‘Have you had your Covid booster? Took me over an hour to get where I had to go. Here, that reminds me, I’m due a PSA test’.

‘I wish they’d hurry up and let me know about getting my other cataract done. I was hoping to be in and out before Christmas’.

Bloody Nora. I remember those halcyon days when we would ponder deeply upon a whole range of weighty philosophical, political and cultural matters; breasts, dodgy refereeing, breasts, transfer speculation, legs, breasts, drink, arses, boardroom shenanigans, arses, and breasts. We used to be a veritable Brains Trust.

These days we have dick-wagging contests about who can last the longest without having to get up in the night for a piss. I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again; it’s a long and winding road from acid rock to acid reflux.

Growing old’s a pain, and I need it like I need a second arsehole. What a cunt. Bugger, where did I put my fucking bus pass?

Nominated by: Ron Knee

69 thoughts on “Growing Old (Revisited)”

    • Depands how bad you’ve got it.

      I have a thing called ‘functional Neurological disorder’ which is a bit like IBS – a label to hang things on when they don’t have a clue what’s wrong with you.

      Like Parkinsons but less consistent. Anything from a twitch in the leg to a full blown fit but at completely irregular and unpredictable intervals.

      The thought of another 25 years living like this sometimes makes me go to bed hoping I don’t wake up in the morning. Trouble is I don’t even get through the night because it’s worse at night.

      Still, some good news today about the new euthanasia pods they’ve licenced in Switzerland. Death with style. I like it. Maybe I can get one on Amazon Prime…

      https://metro.co.uk/2021/12/06/3d-printed-suicide-pods-are-now-legal-in-switzerland-15724710/

      • You know Dio, with everything that can possibly go wrong with the human body (before you even think about what can happen when you go through your front door), I’m truly amazed that anybody ever makes it into their 30s.

  2. I’ve got a mate, we’re both 65 but he loves behaving like he’s 85. He sits on the sofa all day and when we occasionally we meet in the pub, he turns up in his Clark’s shoes Blue harbour over sized trousers and a grey unkempt beard. All he bangs on about is you shouldn’t look at birds any more and that his prostate is the size of a grapefruit, the fucking blood pressure, and how we should all wear masks indefinitely.He also likes to walk with a stick even though he doesn’t appear to need one ?
    I might be getting on a bit but i ain’t ready for the misery he puts himself through yet.

    • Had my blood pressure taken last week. Apparently it was above normal, for the first time. Why am I not surprised?

      • Mine is directly correlated to the number of dingies arriving. This time of year it’s normally fine.

      • Seriously Ruff, don’t worry about it. When you say you had your blood pressure taken I presume you mean at the GP’s or in a medical setting. There is a well known effect known as “white coat hypertension” which refers to the fact that when blood pressure is taken by a medic it is often raised due to anxiety. Also blood pressure goes up and down like a whore’s draws. I have a blood pressure measuring device and prompted by your post I have just measured mine. First reading was 143 over 77, second reading less than a minute later was 110 over 60. This is nothing unusual. Blood pressure monitors are cheap and readily available.

      • Yep, Argos do one, a cuff style which costs about £20 and they’ll deliver.
        Do it once weekly, two readings at least 5 minutes apart whilst resting.
        Higher than 135/85, call your doctor but don’t panic, unless it’s approaching 200 top line. Then dial the nines

      • Oh, I’m not the slightest bit worried about the result, Arfur.

        Yes, it was taken at my GP surgery – twice within 5 minutes to make sure the first reading was not an anomaly. I know why it was higher than normal, I’ve allowed stress and negative thinking to get the better of me once again, but am now on top of things, thank you for your reply.

        Went to a funeral this morning. Everyone was wearing masks during the actual service apart from me and a handful of others. But when we got to the knees-up afterwards masks soon came off and by the end everyone was hugging and kissing without so much as a by your leave.

        So if I fail to post over the next few days you’ll know what’s happened. 😀

  3. Great nom, Ron.

    Living on a fucking hill is a cunt as the years roll by. Last week we had just about got to the bottom when Mrs Twenty found she had left her fucking mobile phone behind so I went back for it. Pressed for time, I set off at a run but had only got around a third of the way up before I had to stop, gasping for breath, heart pounding like a jack hammer. Had to walk the rest of the way hoping I didn’t see any of the neighbours as I would have had trouble speaking to them. Fucking cream crackered inside two hundred yards. What a cunt.

    • Plenty of fat, lazy, benefits-cunts on estates, half your age, who wouldn’t have managed half that distance.👍

      • Thanks, Herr General.

        Have you seen those examples of cunts who are so fat that they have to demolish their fucking houses to get their bodies out? How the fuck does anyone get in that state? I blame the bennies system.

      • Just back from the supermarket-absolutely NO fatties whatsoever 😳
        Has Covid done it’s job?

      • That’s because they’ve discovered the joys of home delivery. Why haul your arse out of bed, change out of your onesie for leggings, and flog round the shelves when a nice person in a smart uniform will deliver it to the door. Delivery cost is cheaper than the cost of fuel. Win, win!

  4. On the bright side though Ron, you’ve probably seen the best days of this world. It’s all downhill from here. When the marxist new world order net zero and everlasting new Covid strains kick in there’ll be a lot of people heading for the exits.

    The yoof of today are going to be slaves. You lived free, for the most part. Despite the acknowledged health benefits of friendships, future generations will not even be able to sit around in the pub moaning without it affecting their social credit score. The new pills will be cut off because you had a sip of ale.

    Good morning/afternoon!

    • Aye up BH.
      There’s a lot of truth in what you say mate. Although my formative years in Balsall Heath (an inner city post war slum in the 50s) left much to be desired, I was able to make the most of what abilities I had, and got out.
      I got a masters at uni, a decent job, made loads of friends, roamed the world, followed the Villa and met and married a woman desirable beyond my wildest hopes, and have a daughter and grandkids.
      I wish that I could roll the clock and relive it all. I hope this generation can get a chance, and see beyond their mobile phones and safe spaces.

    • Yoof of today are already slaves, controlled by a 5×3 inch screen, what to like what not to like, what to think what not to think (even if they have the capacity for independent thought it’s controlled by the little screen)

      Other screen sizes are available

  5. I can’t understand it Ron, no conversation about the latest iPhone, what’s trending on Twitter, the latest downloads, how the big oil companies are destroying the planet, evil capitalism 😂

    And I hope you all declared your pronouns 🤨

    • Pronouns?
      We’re all cunts mate, and proud of it!
      I’m not interested in mobile phones unless there’s a picture of Salma Hayek’s splendid assets visible on it.

      • See, that’s the spirt, the body may be weak but the mind can still shag a nice bit of totty 😂

      • The wife says I’ve got an unhealthy fixation with Ms Hayek’s marvels. Says the woman who thinks that cunt Cumberbatch is ‘cute’!

      • Had the misfortune to see the young Cuntypatch on Heartbeat today, playing an arrogant little tit, a role he seems well suited to. No effort required…
        I get my 1st ever ECG on Friday, solely for the purposes of ruling out any cardiac worries, acc. GP.
        I am convinced it’s something more upper gastric/oesophageal, given all the belching and farting. Is farting e er cardiac-related, unless it’s the terminal fart of doom??

      • I’m no doctor, but I’m fairly sure that belching and farting is gastro related. However, excessive and/or prolonged attacks of the hiccups are heart and lung related and require immediate attention.

  6. With age….comes wisdom.
    Also piles, baldness, prostate issues, bad backs, withered balls, and uncountable other ailments.
    But I like being older.
    Im happier in my skin.
    Know my mind!
    Clarity and focus, serenity.
    I am like that cunt Buddha

    Bald and getting fat.
    Ive learnt to hate young people and thwart them every chance I get,
    Im jealous of them,
    Clean lungs, healthy heart, stamina etc.

    Fuckin little showoffs.

    • I still ‘run’ but I’m done in after 500 metres without stopping now.

      No shame in it really if middle aged. Do what you can and get the heart pounding a bit. I stop and walk if I feel dizzy though. Always have water. And my phone ready for the emergency services lol. I can see myself doing a Rik Mayall if I ‘push it to the max’. Older cunts should not take this fucking stupid advice. Ok for the young uns, but push yourself ‘through the pain barrier’ in your 50s upwards, and you’ll be in a box by tea time.

      A lad I know who’s about 20 years younger than me and runs about 4- 6 miles 3 times a week (properly), asked what it feels like to run at 50. I just said everything is much tougher. That the best way to describe it is that I feel like he does after finishing his run, before I even fucking start my own.

      Or that it’s like running with concrete legs.

  7. I’m as old as the hills. 85 in February.

    Every part of me is stiff. Except for my penis.

    I do everything I physically can. I refuse to admit defeat, and force myself to do most of the things I’ve been doing all my life.

    My lungs are pretty good considering I’ve smoked all my adult life. Proper coffin nails too back in the day, like Churchman’s No1, Capstan’s, Senior Service, and Player’s Navy Cut.
    Wills’ Wisps, Park Drive and Player’s Weights if you were skint.

    Now I’ve got Covid. I feel like shit. But I’m still breathing. I’m not going to that naughty hospital either,- that will be the end of me for sure.
    Mrs Dyke is running round waiting on me as if this week is going to be my last!

    And if those track and trace cunts ring me up one more time, I’m going to tell them I’ve had a night of passion with Diane Abbott and sneezed all over her.

    You know you’re really getting on when wet wipes become part of your essential ‘going out’ kit, and you take a plastic bag to bring back your soiled breeches in.

    • ‘Every part of me is stiff. Except for my penis’.
      This is probably the saddest statement we’ll see on here all year.
      ‘I refuse to admit defeat’.
      This is probably the cheeriest statement we’ll see on here all year.

      Keep on keeping on where you can mate; all the best!

      • Thanks Ron.

        I did admit defeat last year when I was going to inspect my leaning chimney pot.

        Got to the top of the ladder, tried to climb on the roof and thought fuck that. I couldn’t get my leg up.

        I’ve been up there countless times.

        Came down and rung a builder up.

      • Thanks CG, I keep falling asleep on settee.

        Been feeling a bit rough for a week.

        My chest is still spot-on, so I’m not too worried at the minute.

        I’m just about to light-up another Marlboro, and I have a bottle of Stones’ Ginger Wine by my side.

        I’m sure I read somewhere that Marlboro kills the Bat Flu,- I think it was in the Express?

      • Well Marlboro killed John Wàyne so your possible into something there Dick!!
        😀

      • John Wayne walked like he had shit himself.

        I walk like John Wayne because I have shit myself.

        Welcome to Marlboro Country Mis.

  8. Oh it’s a right cunt and no mistake.
    All the mental stuff you did as a younger fellow catches up with you.

    Wrestling Bat Flu last few days and it’s made scotch taste like washing up liquid.
    The dirty yellow bastards.

    • Happy to have dodged the lurgy so far, Unk. Hope it’s not too bad mate, and you’re better soon.

      • I thank you.
        I’m gutted my refreshments have been tainted.
        Other than that Fuck the Chinese.

    • My chest is ok with this Bat Flu, is yours ok Uncle?

      But I’ve barely got the energy to walk up the stairs, and I’m sweating like Boris Johnson at PMQ’s.

      Can I be assured of a discounted roasting in your oven, if I don’t make it?

      • Oh I’m knackered all right Mr VanDyke.
        Lungs are right enough..a cough but nowt ferocious.
        If I can’t taste my scotch by the weekend I’m writing a strong letter to the Chinese Embassy.
        Failing that I may chuck myself in the oven.
        Good health to you sir.
        The fags should ward off the worst.

      • If you can’t taste your Scotch, may I suggest drinking Grants?

        That nasty shite will cut through anything.

        Ideal for getting your oven lit too.

  9. It is a bastard, and not funny at all, but reading this did make me smile because I thought ” that’s me”
    I’ve been very lucky. I retired when I was 55 and still reasonably fit and healthy. I’ve had 10 great years of foreign travel, great nights out and family gatherings, but these last two have gone downhill faster than an Olympic skyer. Back, knees, elbows, hands and pray you never get arthritis in your toes, it makes wearing shoes almost unbearable. I dread winter.

    • I dont know why im worrying anyway?
      Doctor said im good for another 50 yrs.
      So ive put it to the back of my mind.
      Sorry days.
      Good for another 50 days.
      😁

      • Yes Ron, im one step ahead there!
        Ive applied as a coach driver for the annual Stockport Mosques trip to London.
        Doing 85mph to the prayers and screams of the carpet kissers is how id like to go.😀

      • You might even qualify for forty virgins or whatever in Allahland! If you can get confirmation of that in writing from the organisers, please let me know where I can by a ticket.

      • Yes, good idea Mis.

        Swerve off that big fuck off bridge at the Dartford Crossing.

        If I did that Ron, I would end up with 40 Greta Thunberg’s in a burning hell.

        “85mph, in a coach? The carbon footprint Dick…..How dare you!”

      • I was thinking more an improvement in my libido, and 80 pig tails to pull on Ron.

        I’ll steal her future alright.

      • That’s not curdled my milk Ron.

        I’ve got Cravendale in the fridge.

        But it has given me the horn.

        The Spastic Swede has never been more appealing.

  10. To all my fellow cunters who are currently unwell, I wish you all a speedy recovery with no nasty after effects.

    • Thank you JP

      I can’t work out whether I’m pissed, or I’m starting to feel better.

  11. Walk as much as you can. Going shopping, take a rucksack. Sunday mornings mega walk.
    Walk walk and more walking. Leave the fucking car where it is.
    I’ve live 35 years in this house and there are dozens of neighbours that have never walked past my house. Lazy cunts.

  12. I cycle, walk and practice martial arts and boxing – I do not compete anymore as my body was starting to break (play golf now – a lot fewer injuries! 😃) and apart from occasional back pain am pretty chipper at 55 – I can (literally) run rings around the 20 year old lardy grey faced slugs and 40 year old disability scooter pilots where I live and still do a thousand sit ups a day.
    Health is fleeting, never take it for granted.

  13. My grandfather died in his 90s after 70 odd years of smoking (untipped Player’s Navy Cut), social drinking and eating all the old school unhealthy stuff like dripping, pig’s trotters, tripe, deep fried home-made chips and fish; and the fat off meat.

    Despite all that he was a slim Jim to his dying day, and quite fit, always walking to the local shops and doing DIY around the house. But he had a mild stroke while in his 80s and the GP said “Keep off the ciggies, the booze and fatty food. And do more exercise!”

    But my GF said “I’m 84, why should I give up on all that “bad” stuff when I’ve lasted this long?” And he carried on until he died aged 92.

    Everything in moderation, unless you’re in your 70s and 80s. In which case, fuck it and enjoy life to excess while you still can.

    Let’s face it, the way this country is going you’ll be better of dead sooner rather than later.

    • Too true, Techno. To that end I’m going to continue to smoke, and drink to excess. If I make 70, it’ll be a miracle.

  14. I put distance between me and ‘the guys’ a long time ago. I got sick of hearing the same old crap. Meeting up with ‘old acquaintances’ and talking about our respective medical problems would have been a nice change but all they seemed to want to talk about was their children.
    It was like “I’ve got this many children, they’re called this and that, they went to this school and that school, now they’re doing this.” I didn’t want to hear it. I wasn’t interested in their fucking children. They always talked as though they’d achieved something, like they expected me to say well done and give them a pat on the back.
    And if it wasn’t children, they wanted to talk about work. I’ve been retired ten years. Who the fuck wants to talk about work? I spent forty five years of my life getting up on cold mornings, going to places where I didn’t want to be, doing things I didn’t want to do, with people I didn’t want to know. I don’t want to remember it and talk about it, I want to forget all about it.
    So no more get togethers for me, I’d rather be on my own and they can all bore each other senseless.

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