You Are Now Entering A Testosterone Free Zone

I’m increasingly risk-averse these days – is it just another sign of ageing?  

THERE’S STILL A LITTLE bit of snow lying around here, left over from the flurry at the weekend.  

Today, I was thinking about going to the shops on my bike, but I didn’t fancy it: I was a bit worried about hitting a frozen patch, and tumbling off.  

I haven’t been running for a while, either – partly because of the still-icy pavements and the possibility of a slip, followed by yet another muscle tear or strain.

And while I was thinking all this, I asked myself: “When did you become such an old man? What happened to all that testosterone?”  

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Thighs Don’t Lie

My knees and hips are also furious about my new exercise regime

OF COURSE I’m on a health kick at the moment.

It’s January, season of new starts. And anyway, what else is there to do these days if you’re not a sainted Key Worker?

From what I can work out, everybody else’s motivation and productivity seem to have fallen off a cliff while we mooch around at home, waiting for our distant vaccinations and the post-Covid New Dawn.

Despite this (and as if there wasn’t enough for us to be down about already) many of us still feel we should be achieving something with all this lockdown downtime.

So I’ve decided to try and turn back the clock, yet again, to when I was thin and thirty-ish.

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The Long, Baffled Hunt For A Handbrake

It’s wrong on so many levels to want to drive a car again…

An older man examines an aeroplane control panel
Image: Chris Leipelt/Unsplash

I HAD an odd experience today – I woke up fancying a drive

Actually, the first thing I thought was: ‘I need to book a car and take the cats to the vet’.

But I fancied driving.

For once, the thought of getting into an automobile and not on a bike, settling back in a comfy seat instead of perching on an inadequate saddle, and not having to do all the leg work myself gave me a warm, happy feeling, rather than a shudder. 

Drivers are currently a severely endangered species in this house. Three of us are old enough to set off for a spin whenever we want, but we hardly ever do. 

The main reason for that is that we’re Londoners. We don’t drive to work. That’d be silly.

The buses, trains and Tube all run fast and frequent where we live and, anyway, I am semi-permanently joined to my bikes; a middle-aged, sweaty, semi-centaur.

The other reason that we don’t drive much is that taking to the wheel in the capital is horrible.

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