Eh?

Wail, wail, knash, knash, ack! In case I was in any doubt that I was over the hill, my ride home yesterday destroyed any illusions I might have been harbouring. Do you know it's been 25, count 'em, 25 years since Michael Jackson released Thriller! Bloody hell, where did the time go! They've just released an anniversary edition. For goodness sake, they were playing Beat It at my high school graduation a year after this album was released. Okay, I sort of realise that the music I listened to as a teenager has been relegated to the "classics" station but when I think "classic" rock or whatever I think of the Beatles, the Eagles, California dreaming/surf or heavy metal as played by Zepplin, Who, Ozzy and Black Sabbath etc. They were around playing arenas before I was born, well, the Beatles and the Stones anyway.

You know how awful it is to realise while grooving to Lovestoned that Justin Timberlake is almost young enough to be your son...well if you was really, really active in your youth and I'm not telling. I'm not ready to trade in my motorbike for a rocking chair. Of course, I should have known that the downward slide was well underway when I started to dread going to all night concerts and crowded bars.

Breathe, breathe, it's going to be alright, even if you do remember when Michael Jackson was a black man and big hair was the order of the day. There are good things about getting older though, that pesky self doubt has been replaced by the certainty of knowing you are always right. No matter what. Because I said so. Hah, do you know how long I've been waiting to be able to say that with conviction. Now I can and no one looks at me and falls over laughing, my laugh lines ( I don't have wrinkles) entitle me to belong to that club. I also don't feel in the least bit guilty about not wearing high, high heels all the time or not being a size four. What the heck, I'm older, I'm entitled to some middle aged spread dammit! I can also listen to opera and the classics, sit around read my book and drink red wine instead of frantically planning the next lime and the next lime without being at all concerned that people might think I was dead if I wasn't out one night of the week.

Haha, see, this is liberating. Think I 'm going to haul my (toned) butt down to the CD shop and get me another copy of Thriller, it'll be nice to hear Vincent Price rapping after all this time. And for all you young punks out there sneering, let me remind you, as you sample away, many of the huge so-called hits over the last ten years have borrowed extensively the music of my generation. Why don't you come up with some stuff of your own eh.