Bobblehead

Warming Ups

8624/21543

The power of Warming Up once again demonstrated. Within minutes of me publishing the blog a reader called Jonathan Ricketts emailed me to say the government were thinking of doing exactly what I suggested yesterday.

You’re welcome guys.

It was my last day of being 58 today and by midnight (or technically 8am tomorrow) I had spent 59 years on this planet, as an autonomous human. As an early birthday present Jude Bellingham scored the winning goal for England a matter of minutes into my big day. Phoebe had stayed up for the match, but as I cheered I realised she had fallen asleep and slept through the noise and I had to wake her to tell her the news.

This year seems to have passed in an instant, but the same could be said for all of my fifties. What’s even happened in the last nine years? Apart from having a second child and two cancers? Someone sat on the remote control and we’ve been in fast forward. Why can’t you rewind on this thing? What kind of system is that?

Did I drink from the wrong Holy Grail? I chose the fancy ones with all the jewels on, cos Jesus would definitely have had that one. He was the son of fucking God. And carpenters make a decent whack. He’s not drinking out of polystyrene.

I thought about this a lot. I searched for the grail my whole life. I am not just going to blunder into choosing the wrong one. I don’t understand why they had all those grails on the same table anyway. It was asking for trouble.

Anyway I feel sickened to be in the last year of my 50s and disgusted that no one warned me that this would happen. All the time I wasted in my younger years thinking this would last forever. I can’t remember any of that either because I was drunk all the time. I have 100% wasted this ridiculous opportunity of life up to now. And it doesn’t seem worth making an effort now, so late in the day. All I have to look forward to is infinite oblivion. Having lived my life in finite oblivion. What a shameful, awful waste, but what can you do? In another 59 years people won’t even remember who I was.

Anyway, thought I would play a few rounds of Civ II this morning and kept saying that this turn was the last turn. Five hours later I conquered the world.

When I used to play this intensely in the 90s I would see Civilisation II scenarios playing in front of my eyes every time I blinked. Now that doesn’t seem to happen to anywhere near the same extent. Is this something to do with my aphantasia? Did I once have access to mental images but some trauma has caused me to lose them? And if so why didn’t I notice the change?

As I fell asleep I did start semi-dreaming of playing Civilisation II and every time I needed to do something I would move my hand to press the space bar or arrow keys, which of course weren’t there. So that was something. But I can see stuff at dream times (not that I generally have any control over it).

Anyway I don’t miss being haunted by images from Civ II and I did play non-stop for entire weekends in the old days, barely going to sleep, so maybe five hours wasn’t enough time to burn it on to my retinas.

I just want to be able to see things in my brain, though it seems that with age things decline rather than repair themselves, so will content myself with being able to see thing with my eyes. For as long as those fuckers work.

Again shouldn’t complain. Do you have anything in your life that has worked pretty well for nearly 60 years of constant use. Admittedly one of my balls packed up, but I had really put it through the wringer. Which you really don’t want to do with testicles.

Anyway, happy birthday me. Thanks Jude. I look forward to us fluking the semi-final on penalties and losing 3-0 to France in the Final.

8625/21544

Fifty-nine not out. Though not making any presumptions about making it any further. My body has to work out how to give me a cancer that isn’t essentially harmless soon.

Some cool presents from Catie and the kids. Phoebe gave me a frog made out of pompoms, Ernie gave me a pen with a big bit of rubber cheese on it, where a mouse came out if you squeezed it (how did he know?) and Catie got me a bobblehead of me. Or Keanu Reeves. Or David Ginola. Whichever one it was, it’s a lot of fun. We’ve all been watching the American Office over the last few weeks so I guess she was inspired by Dwight.

But whatever happens to me the family will always have the Bobblehead me, who may be more handsome than I actually am, but even Oliver Cromwell didn’t want a warts and all Bobblehead.

Maybe by the time I die the technology will have been developed to transfer my consciousness into the bobblehead and I can watch over my family, unable to speak, but able to bobble my head in appreciation or anger. Could be a good sitcom. Bobblehead Dad. Imagine having to silently watch your family moving on without you and all you can do is bobble your head. Catie’s new boyfriend is drinking my malt whisky. Head bobbles off the body.

Alternatively maybe the sitcom/Sasha Baron-Cohen film is that a man wakes up one day with his ordinary head replaced by a bobblehead. How does he cope with that? Would his friends and colleagues be able to resist bobbling his head/ What if his bobble head looked like a much too handsome version of his own head? Would people want to make love with him? How would the bobble head react during love making? I think if I was making love to someone who had a bobble head that would make the whole thing a lot more exciting. Or would it be better to be the one with the bobble head? What if both of you had a bobble head?

Anyway it’s my birthday. You have to enjoy this bit even though it is clearly awful.