Come on in, the sofa's lovely

wordsout by godfrey rust
Welcome To The Real World < 11 of 59 >

Bocca, designed by Studio 65 for Heller

When the belt around your belly
sidles out another notch,
and the footballers on telly are
the sons of those you watched,
when your clothes are back in fashion and
you never even knew,
and the high point of your Saturday’s
a trip to B&Q,

when the grown-ups at your parties
are outnumbered by their kids
and you notice that prime ministers
look younger than they did,
when you catch yourself complaining that
a programme goes too far
and insist a Ford Mondeo’s really
quite a stylish car,

when a hit song sounds like someone with
a terminal disease
and you find that you’re agreeing with
Conservative MPs,
when a singer makes a comeback and
you didn’t know he’d gone
and your daughter’s latest boyfriend’s
never heard of Elton John,

when your favourite tv series
only shows on UK Gold
and those other people at your school
reunion look so old,
when you’re free to stay up partying
all night, but somehow don’t
and your children are all big enough
to wear your clothes, but won’t,

when there’s no-one to complain about
the company you keep
and the most seductive reason for
an early night is sleep,
when you’d write your masterpiece if you’d
the leisure to begin it
and you’d have a mid-life crisis if
you only had a minute

and you wonder what became of all
that time that lay ahead
and all the things you could have done (and all
the things you did instead),
then the hour has come at last to face
the unforgiving truth
that your membership’s expired of that
exclusive club of youth.

Don't shake your balding head or stamp
your Hush Puppies in rage—
look on it as maturing past that
awkward, childish stage—
in the stuffing of life’s turkey, just
accept that you’re the sage—
face the camera, smile and say that you’re
approaching middle age.

Tempus fugit, of course, and Ford Mondeos and UK Gold are themselves now historical curiosities.