Youth is famously wasted on the young, while old age comes to us all. But their distant cousin, middle age, may be the worst and the least-forgiving of the three acts of the lifespan. Trapped: no longer a child, yet unable to throw off the shackles of responsibility and give up caring completely, middle age seems to be a never-ending lottery of which body part is going to host an unauthorised overnight orgy, and leave you footing the bill in the morning.
Much has been said of this humiliating part of the lifespan. “Middle age is when your age starts to show around your middle” was Bob Hope’s pithy one-liner. “The enemy of society is middle class, and the enemy of life is middle age” according to Orson Welles, who seems to have lived through a particularly bad version of it. I also think Bill Vaughan summed it up pretty well: “Youth is when you’re allowed to stay up late on New Year’s Eve. Middle age is when you’re forced to.”
It’s not clear precisely when the onset of middle age begins and we must accept that the halcyon days of youth are firmly behind us, but the signs of being ‘past it’ soon come thick and fast. In my own case as a Poundshop Peter Pan, I’d begun to notice that women (who, let’s face it, had never been particularly interested at the best of times) had stopped looking altogether. But it wasn’t until my late 30’s when obvious decline had set in.
Having always fancied myself a boxer (at least whenever watching Rocky films), a light sparring session ended with a niggle in my shoulder. What ten years prior would have been shrugged off the next day, turned into a major rotator cuff tear; effectively ending my hopes of turning trans and challenging for the women’s welterweight title! Post 40 however, it really is all downhill (or at least it was for me) – balding, beer gut and back trouble (and that’s just the B’s). Now, cautiously approaching the big 5-0, here are a list of ailments you may soon be experiencing if you or a friend is concerned they might be ‘middle aged’:
- Waking up to bruises you cannot explain, except that you know they definitely aren’t a consequence of anything racy occurring in the bedroom (or anywhere else for that matter).
- Being so tired, you don’t have the energy to sleep – and certainly don’t have the strength to get up in the morning.
- Going into a room for something, and forgetting why you went there. Bonus points for forgetting what you were doing in the first place.
- Saying everyone’s name except the person you’re speaking to. I used to think my dad did this as a joke, but I’ve recently discovered to my cost that he probably didn’t. Bonus points for saying the names of non-family members. Double bonus points for saying the names of people you don’t even know.
- Genuinely forgetting how old you are, to the extent that you either have to work it out with a pencil and paper, or resort to asking other people who might know.
- Remembering the date, time, weather, venue, music, entourage and outfit from an event in 1988, but failing to recall what you just ate for lunch.
- ‘The Jack Nicholson Effect’: knowing that as unflattering as your bathroom mirror looked this morning, that’s about as good as it’s gonna get!
- Eyesight so shot you can no longer read the subtitles from the sofa. Rather than acting mature and visiting the opticians, you console yourself that you didn’t want to read the subtitles anyway.
- Becoming concerned that the once safe havens of Marks & Spencer’s jumpers, Radio 4 and The Times crossword might now be too ‘hip’ for someone of your advanced years.
- Most of all, knowing that every single damned thing other people do and don’t do is guaranteed to drive you crazy!
Dear readers, if you are anything like me then take heart – you are not alone! Please do include your own ailments that I may have missed – or may soon be looking forward to.
Frank Haviland is the author of Banalysis: The Lie Destroying the West, and writes a Substack here.
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The forgetfulness is awful ( points 3,4 and 6 all apply), also the making a coffee and finding it a few hours later, stone cold and only on seeing it do you recall you made it.
I’ve found that most of my profound “must do that” moments come when I’m in the small room known as the “Cloakroom” and often find myself returning to the “small room” to hopefully remember what it was that I needed to do.
It’s trying not to make ‘oomph’ noises when you bend over or site up
Well if you’re like that approaching 50 Frank, I can only assure you that it gets much worse in your 70s. Good luck mate!
The curse of middle age? Symptoms. And sometimes the pills you’re prescribed cause new symptoms. Which bring new pills. Which et bloody cetera.