Bored!!

Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, BORED!!!!!!
Saturdays used to be fun. I remember. They were. In the days when I was alive.

In the days before hair started to fall off my head or grow on my face (let alone down my nose and out of my ears) I used to wake up early on Saturdays and......well.....ummmm......do things! Things all day, mind. Not just for an hour or two.
I used to play football, mostly. I used to ride my bike out into the country. I used to get the bus into town with my best pal and "hang out", eyeing up the girls. I used to get muddy and climb trees, just for fun. I used to go to the pictures. I used to go to parties and listen to Status Quo in darkened rooms while learning how to undo a bra through a jumper with the deft use of just three fingers. I used to bellow out naughty versions of songs in the charts. I used to................well, I just USED TO.

It's just not the same anymore. Since I bust my tendon I can barely walk, let alone pretend to be Ian Porterfield and re-enact the 1973 FA Cup Final. I sold my bike when I went to college and years later I bought a car which I discovered rendered the bus obsolete. Mud no longer holds the same fascination for me that it did in my youth and they have cut down all the good trees!
All the proper cinemas have long since closed and sitting in either a broom cupboard or a converted aircraft hanger at one of the soulless, out-of-town multiplexes is not my idea of a good time.
Hanging around town eyeing up girls, meanwhile, is not only a rather unhealthy pursuit for a middle-aged man but it has also lost its magic. When I have to go to town these days I make sure I am in and out again like a buck rabbit's naughty bit in Spring and..........well, the only girls I really look forward to seeing these days are barmaids. Finally, 20 years of listening to the same three chords put me off Status Quo for the rest of my days and my expertise with, and in-depth knowledge of, brassieres doesn't seem to impress the sophisticated women in their 40s with whom I rub shoulders nowadays as much as it did girlies in the '70s. Ho hum.
As for juvenile fun, society and maturity now dictate that I am no longer allowed to entertain myself fleetingly by singing the playground versions of '70s hits! when they come on jukeboxes in pubs. God, I miss Herman's Hermits' Sunshine Girl!! These days it would probably spark a discussion among my friends about the underlying plasticity of the inner metaphor and yet all I can still hear in my head is:

Sunshine girl I'm looking down your bra,
I see two round things,
I wonder what they are,
Do you invite me,
To squeeze them tightly,
Not bloody likely!
My Sunshine Girl.

Hurrumph! I could take the dogs for an extra-long walk, I suppose, but, not only is my leg hurting more than normal today, Pad is too wobbly on his back legs at the moment to stand a rigorous outing.
I could go shopping in the village but......well, that would just smack a little too much of "life on the edge, no net!"
It's FA Cup fourth round day today as well - something I always used to love - but the money men ruined football for me years ago so that I can no longer get excited about it - and there's no rugby on nearby either.
There isn't even a Mrs Pither around to have jolly japes with. She went to a pal's in Big City yesterday and went out for a few dry sherries so will doubtless have to be medivacced back today in a bodybag.
I suppose I could always re-arrange my pants drawer. It's an option and I think I'll keep in reserve.

I am too lazy to think of anything adventurous so I think I will have to plump for option B. I will take myself to a great pub where I know I will be able to read the papers in peace, have a few fantastic pints and eat dry-roasted peanuts without someone saying "they're fattening, you know!" I think I'll take the dogs with me 'n' all. They adore peanuts - and Scampi Fries (even though they do smell somewhat embarrassing).
There! That's Saturday sorted. Now, what to do tomorrow?

Ho, hum. Boredom can go to Grantham.

P.S. Apropos absolutely bloody nothing, isn't the accent of that little kid on the Persil Small and Mighty advert brilliant?! I wish I could say "con..sun..traay..teardd" like he does.