Midlife Crisis...

Right, I'm not sure, but I think I could well be having a midlife crisis (meaning that I'll live to the ripe old age of 36 - my lucky number, but obviously not that lucky...). I arrived at this conclusion today after returning from the bank. I hate banks, especially my bank. I won't name names, let's just call them, say, Lloyds TSP. It all stems back to July of last year, whereupon I entered my local branch to exchange some Pounds sterling into Euros and walked out with a new current account that costs me £8 a month! That's £100 a year! (give or take) £100! I very rarely spend such an amount of money on anything, let alone an intangible vault within which to keep my other money (which is disappearing by the second thanks to this draconian £8 surcharge).

After much wrangling I was told that the account would be closed, but there was a payment earmarked, so I would have to wait for it to go through and (this was the point where I realised my youthful exuberance had been fully syphoned away) I simply accepted that. No questions, no arguing with the young lady cashier (though I suspect she would have been fully unprepared if I had set my rant to 'stun'). Instead I went home and listened to a playlist (another hint that I could be having a midlife crisis) Jackson Browne, Nick Drake, Toto and Journey. Mellow songs from mellow songwriters. I'm also the kind of person (hint number 3) that says things like "on I Won't Hold You Back, Lukather's guitar licks sound like the raw emotion of the dying human soul". So I wasn't prepared to argue with a bank clerk, I listen to mellow music and I'm a poor man's Paul Gambaccini- futility, folk/soft rock and pretentiousness do not a crisis make, right? Wrong. This morning I woke up with a sore back. This is just plain ridiculous I must be at least 50 years old.

As I've previously mentioned 2 of the big hints have been music based. I consider myself to be somewhat of an expert on music and I have frequently complained about modern music and how some of it is "just bloody noise". I'm sure that this is probably another factor of middle age. I like classic rock and Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds. I'm essentially Ken Bruce. What hope is there for me?

As a man once called a younger, sexier David Mitchell (just by a friend, there wasn't a poll or conference or anything) I feel, like the great man himself, righteously outraged by many, many things that I suspect other people find to be merely trifling annoyances. I'd like to think that my comparison to Mitchell was to do with our shared rapier-like wit, however I suspect it has rather more to do with the fact that I am cursed with an underdeveloped jawline, quite like history and complain a lot. Mitchell is a hero of mine, as is Paxman, who did an excellent night's work yesterday (the expression as he says "I don't think so" is absolutely tremendous). Paxo is surely soon to be a national treasure. He has a healthy disregard for his superiors, he said 'fucking' on Newsnight and every Monday he puts 8 students well and truly in their place. Bravo, Mr. Paxman.

Will let you all know if I attempt to purchase a motorcycle or go travelling in central Europe. If that happens, then there is truly no hope for me. In the meantime, I'm off to listen to The Smiths and try and recapture some teen angst to flush out the middle aged malaise I'm currently experiencing. See you tomorrow, kids. If you have been, thank you for listening.