It’s All Downhill From Here

IT’S ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE – How Fashion Is A Waste Of Time Once You Hit Forty And Why That Is More Glorious Than You Can Imagine

A Dessicated Follower Of Fashion



It’s been a liberating experience, becoming a Forty-something man. All sorts of things not to have to worry about any more. Top of this list has to be clothes. There were questions which had to be asked before selecting an ensemble from my wardrobe when I was in my twenties and thirties. Is it appropriate to the occasion? If so, what’s the likelihood of someone else wearing the same thing? Will I look like I’m trying too hard? That sort of thing. All irrelevant now.

It’d be lovely to think that this is because I have settled into my looks and am more comfortable with myself now. That I now have a firm neutral base from which any look can be launched, like some kind of sartorial chameleon. Lovely thoughts, however, seldom have any basis in reality. The sad fact is that everything I now wear becomes instantly and effortlessly styleless.

And With A Single Bound, Jack Looked Exactly Like His Dad

And This Is My Son Keith Jnr. He's An Accountant Too.

And This Is My Son Keith Jnr. He’s An Accountant Too.

Cut, shape, line; all if these things are now utterly without meaning. These concepts try desperately to find purchase but, despite the fact there’s a lot more of me to grab onto than there was a few short years ago, they fail miserably and fall in a crumpled heap about my feet


A sports jacket, camel trousers and hush puppies. Unless I am wearing all of these items, I am doomed to look like I’m trying to be something I am not. Which is why I am currently wearing a pair of jeans, desert boots and a t shirt with cartoon figures of the characters from “Enter The Dragon” printed on it.

It doesn’t matter you see? I could have walked down my high street today sporting a silver topped cane and decked out like a Regency dandy, and the public’s reaction would have been the same. None what-so-fucking-ever.

But The Gimp’s Sleeping…Well Wake Him Up Then

And All Because The Lady Loves Milk Tray

And All Because The Lady Loves Milk Tray

A man of my precise age could wear a spangly silver gimp suit and make it look pedestrian. In fact, many of them do, though thankfully in the privacy of their own homes or under professional supervision in some kind of rented dungeon affair. I have become what, in my native Newcastle, is known as a Gadgee. Rough translation: any man who is, or appears to be, at least twenty years older than you currently are.

Not that I haven’t been referred to as a Gadgee before. Thing is, the boys who are now doing the referring aren’t playing football in the park and dreaming of picking up girls in pubs anymore. They’re picking up girls in pubs and dreaming of playing football in St James’ Park. They’re what the world now laughingly classes as adults.

I’m Sorry, But No One Finds You That Interesting Anymore

Yes, Please Tell Me Again  About The First Time You Heard Dark Side Of The Moon

Yes, Please Tell Me Again About The First Time You Heard Dark Side Of The Moon

As a newly fledged Gadgee, another thing the world no longer gives a flying fart about is my music collection. I used to carefully edit my display of CD cases for a balance of sensitivity and sense of humour if I might be having a girl over. I don’t bother now. There’s a girl over every night, I’ve been living with her for twelve years.

Even the friends who used to scan my albums when I was on the toilet, and therefore wasn’t watching them, don’t bother anymore. Yes, I still call them albums, even though such a thing hasn’t existed for well over a decade.  My friends are mostly the same age as me and as such a bit nervous of what they might find in my CD racks. As Jesus said : “Before you remove the Girls Aloud from your brother’s rack, first attend to the Michael Buble in your own”. Or he would have if he’d made it to forty and recorded music had been invented.

Were You A Brosette Or A Yondie? Bet You Were A Yondie. Loser.

You Can't Tell Which One Likes Bros Because You Can't Check For Grolsch Tops

You Can’t Tell Which One Likes Bros Because You Can’t Check The Shoes For Grolsch Tops

All the little musical tribes have dissolved and I can now actually enjoy eclectic tastes, rather than just nervously pretending to as was the case when I was in my late twenties and early thirties. Try going back in time to 1993 and casually mentioning to your friends that you happen to think that Jagged Little Pill is pretentious, self indulgent shite. We’ve all been dumped Alanis, but we don’t all expect people to shell out good money to hear us whine on about it.

I made this point myself at the time the album came out, no temporal anomalies involved, and it didn’t go down too well. The musical tribes weren’t apparent, but they were still there under the surface. Or the reaction might have been down to feminism, which was still quite popular in that pre-Spice Girls environment. When a girl could get into the charts wearing clumpy boot and no make-up and didn’t have to act like she desperately wanted to fuck you in her videos.

The Crew Cut Is The Comb Over Of The 21st Century

And Now I've Shaved All My Hair Off, You Can't Tell I'm Bald, See?

And Now I’ve Shaved All My Hair Off, You Can’t Tell I’m Bald, See?

Hairdryers are something I haven’t considered for quite some time until fairly recently. I adopted the traditional British No1 all over buzz cut several years ago and have consequently had no need of them since. Until now, that is.

Now, if you’re worrying that I have re-grown my lovely locks in a tragic attempt to regain my lost youth, fear not. My head still looks like a tennis ball that’s been dropped into a muddy puddle. However, I have started going the gym in a tragic attempt to re-gain my lost youth. But I’ve been doing this on and off since I was twenty seven, so I’m not too concerned about it.

Funny. I’m Sure I Wasn’t Wearing A Furry Waistcoat When I Started Showering

Excuse ME Luv, But I Don't Recall Asking You To Join Me In This Shower.

Excuse ME Luv, But I Don’t Recall Asking You To Join Me In This Shower.

What I am concerned about though, is this. When I was twenty seven and had finished showering, I would towel my body down and use the gym’s hairdryer to sort out my hair. Now, however, I towel my head and use the gym’s hairdryer to sort out my body. I’m so hairy now that when I get out of the bath, I look like I’m wearing a mohair suit. Haven’t started going bald yet, but it’s got to be just a matter of time.

Ask Not For Whom The Balls Toll…They Toll For You

Fiddle With It All You Want Ingrid. I Tell You, It's Not Hooked Up Properly Anymore

Fiddle With It All You Want Ingrid. I Tell You, It’s Not Hooked Up Properly Anymore

“Just a matter of time…” That’s a phrase that stalks the hallways of every man’s mind once he’s hit forty. Or forty’s hit him. How long before my dick stops working? Not that it’s the tragedy it once was. Viagra, Cialis, Levitra. Once upon a time these would have been the names of rubbish Italian cars.

Now they’re magic little pills. Whack them down your neck and Presto Inflato, you’ve got a boner. Though you do have to wait half an hour or so. It’ll be a pain in the arse when it I do have to resort to sex pills, but nowhere near as bad as what I had to go through to get laid when I was in my twenties.

I Fancy The One With The Smudged Make-Up And The Puke In Her Hair

Sluts : Always Popular No Matter What State They Get Themselves In

Sluts : Always Popular No Matter What State They Get Themselves In

Back then, getting some sex meant getting drunk. The ladies you needed to meet were all in pubs and nightclubs and they were all boozers. You had to get tanked up to shag them, because there’s few things less sexy to a sober man than a drunk woman. You had to judge how much to have yourself so you wouldn’t appear like a party pooper but still be with it enough to carry on flattering and pulling pigtails in the right proportions. And be able to perform if you got lucky.

You kidded yourself on it was part of the thrill of the chase and that you were having a good time, but it was a fucking nightmare really. In an odd way, I’m looking forward to just popping pill and watching The Daily Show while I’m waiting for it to kick in.

Scream If You Want To Go Faster. Just Mind You Don’t Lose Your False Teeth

Bollocks To That Zen Shit. This Is Awesome

Bollocks To That Zen Shit. This Is Awesome

Still waiting for my first grey pubic hair. That’s when it’s all going to kick off for me. When there’s snow on your lower slopes and no way back up the hill, there’s only one thing for it. Jump on your sledge and enjoy the ride. Just hang on tight and try to take in as much of the view as you can, because when you crash at the bottom you stay crashed. And smile in the knowledge that the young bucks dancing at the top of the piste will be joining you a lot sooner than they think.

© Copyright Michael Grimes 2013


Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

About thedailygrime

At that awkward age - too young to be a grumpy old man, but just acerbic and downtrodden enough to have an opinion. Read it here.

11 responses to “It’s All Downhill From Here”

  1. Ned's Blog says :

    I’m turning 47 this August. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Most of it will probably dance through my head at a moment of intimacy, rendering my impotent. Thanks for that … (seriously, though — funny stuff 😉 )

    • thedailygrime says :

      It’s 44 for me this year, so I’m not too far behind you. I’m sure the intimacy will be fine provided you never watch “Human Traffic” immediately beforehand. I tried that once and it didn’t work out too well. Glad you found the post funny. There’s probably plenty more to come about ageing, because being the age I am, I’m fucking obsessed with it.

      • Ned's Blog says :

        I’ll tell you what, Mike, being that I’m a few years older, I’ll scout ahead and let you know what’s waiting. If you don’t hear from me, find another route.

      • thedailygrime says :

        Righto. You rope us together, forge ahead and see if you can find a belay. If the rope goes slack at any point, I’ll assume something has gone horribly wrong.

      • Ned's Blog says :

        Agreed. Don’t feel obligated to pull the slack, either. Chances are, there’ll be nothing left worth saving, least of all my dignity.

      • thedailygrime says :

        Very noble of you sir. “I’m going out for a walk. I may be quite some time” sort of thing.

      • Ned's Blog says :

        I suppose. Or think of it as the dog crawling under the porch never to be seen again. Until he starts to stink and you have to pull him out without the kids seeing.

      • thedailygrime says :

        No, don’t go out like that. Go out like “Old Yeller”. Barking and foaming at the mouth and giving people rabies.

      • Ned's Blog says :

        Hahaha! Seriously — and as corny as it sounds — I’m actually having the best time of my life right now. I’d never want to do my 20s or 30s again. And not only because I was married to someone else at the time. When I hit 70, then I’ll freak out a little.

      • thedailygrime says :

        Forming, Storming, Norming, Performing. Your Teens, Your 20s, Your 30s, your 40s. Same thing. Wouldn’t go through the first three for all the fame and money in the world. That said, I have to go to bed in about half an hour because I have to be up for work early in the morning. It’s 6.40pm in England right now. I shall probably have a milky drink. Rock n Roll.

      • Ned's Blog says :

        Cheers, and sleep well, Mike!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: