Confessions of an Old Man

So, it's been a big week. Firstly since the last entry I've been in London, Mallorca and now back in Dubai. I had to unfortunately leave the training regime for a strategy meeting in Spain. To be honest I think it did me some good. Although I used the gym in the hotel every day and I, quite rightly, flaunted my new low fat Naz look around the pool, it was good to get away from the intensity of the daily boxing gym training. I've just returned from my first sparring session since I got back and I feel much better for the rest.

This week I also turned 37. I have to say birthdays never really affect me but this one seems to have done. I guess when you're 36 people say, "That Naz, he's in his mid thirties" but at 37 its definitely "Oh Naz, he's in his late thirties." LATE THIRTIES. How the hell did that happen? I can remember seeing Jeremy Welsh's next door neighbour scratching his arse when he was 18 and we were 12 and thinking, "Bloody Hell I wish I don't get that old." I remember when my Mum turned 40, just 3 years away now for me. I remember my first snog with Susan Hoyle, JESUS, that was 25 years ago....25 YEARS!!!!! I know, I know, I should stop whining. 30's are the new twenties and 40's are the new 30's but to be honest that's just bollocks. It's bollocks perpetuated by people in their 30's and 40's...not by those having a fantastic time in their 20's. Lets be REALLY honest 37 is now middle aged. I have spent years listening to people in their early 50's calling themselves middle aged. My dad said he was middle aged at 56. I don't know anyone who is 112 years old...I didn't tell him that at the time. However, 37 makes my life expectancy of 74 very realistic.

As you can see I've thought too much about this. Unfortunately it isn't just reminiscing about that night on Darrel's balcony when Susan Hoyle took advantage of me ( for note she also then took advantage of me in the cloak room of the Grapes in Wrea Green 4 years later in honour of that first snog). I think the real reason I'm feeling my age is the fact that I found out this week that the guy I'm fighting, Ben, is the son of a bloke I play golf with. How crap is that? Either he's so young that his dad is an active member of today's golfing society (shut it!) or I'm so old I'm playing golf with a bloke who has a son old enough to beat me up in front of 1000 people.

As you can see it's been an emotional roller coaster. One minute I'm rested, feeling strong, preening in the Spanish sunshine, the next I'm forced into the realism that I'm getting older. Although, for my age, I consider myself a rock star. The new reality is I can party as hard as the next man as long as I'm in bed before the sun rises, I then get at least 8 hours sleep and I have a spa treatment booked the day after. That may make me middle aged but hey, at least I'm not like those old fogies who are 38!!