48 Not Out

Friday 8th October is my birthday – I am 48 years old.

What an old git I am!

I have been wondering what to post about this particular birthday.

I could complain about how bits are drooping, how my dreadful hair is cranking up a gear to annoy me further by turning grey etc. but instead I have decided to have a bit of fun.

I dumped my date of birth into a couple of horoscope web sites to find out what makes me tick. Here are some of the results with my comments.

Your date of conception was on or about 15 January 1962 which was a Monday.

That’s a little too much information, thanks. An image has formed in my mind now that will probably haunt me for a few years.

You were born on a Monday under the astrological sign Libra.

I know that I am a Libran – a typical one according to Mrs PM (who says that I am the most indecisive person she knows). Whatever the negative aspects of my star sign are, I am happy that Librans are considered to be almost perfect. Librans are wonderful, friendly and intelligent people and loved by every other jealous star sign. We are also arrogant, conceited gits.

Or are we?

Talking of horoscopes, I also stumbled across this “dark horoscope” which basically tells me what is wrong with me as a Libran. Sadly, it confirms my worst fears – I am an indecisive old grump

Your inability to reach a decision in matters of personal action is legendary. You like to weigh all the alternatives and hear every side of an argument - but this may take time and opportunities may pass you by because of it. You also like to expand energy on people who may not deserve it. You want to help the underdog. You are also sensitive to criticism and may take mild statements of fact very personally.

Advice: Follow your instincts and act on them - stop sitting on fences. Don't blindly trust people; learn to be a little more discriminating in your offers of help. Learn to think for yourself and don't be swayed by persuasive tongues.

Crikey – should I follow that advice? I might if I believed the crap above it. I am indecisive, I have no doubt about that, but I think that is a good thing. Agonising over which gadget to buy, for example, usually bears fruit. And I think my choices have usually been great in other fields – so drop THAT in your toilet and flush it.

Your Life path number is 9.

I have absolutely no idea what this means. Maybe I have the mind of a 9 year old child?

Your fortune cookie reads: Your skill will accomplish what the force of many cannot.

Well that’s a load of old cobblers. I’m not James Bond or Rambo.

Your Life Path Compatibility:

You are most compatible with those with the Life Path numbers 3, 6 & 9.

You should get along well with those with the Life Path numbers 1 & 5.

You may or may not get along well with those with the Life Path numbers 2, 7 & 11.

You are least compatible with those with the Life Path numbers 4, 8 & 22.

I checked Mrs PM’s life path number and hers is 7. What does that mean – you may or may not get on well with the Life Path numbers 2,7 &11? It’s like saying “You may or may not be a woman”. Utter balderdash.

Your birthday falls into the Chinese year beginning 2/5/1962 and ending 1/24/1963. You were born in the Chinese year of the Tiger.

Many women have said to me “Hello, Tiger.”

Anyway, enough of that bollocks. Here are some more interesting facts about my birthday.

I share the same birthday as Matt Damon. People often mix the two of us up, and it’s rather annoying having to sign yet another “Jason Bourne” autograph.

I also share my birthday with Sigourney Weaver, alien fighter extraordinaire, and Paul Hogan, aka Crocodile Dundee himself.

I am also thankful that in dog years I am still under 7, which means that should I desire, I still have the energy to run around chasing cats and my tail (the latter of which I frequently do at work).

My lucky day is Friday – which is also the day of my 48th birthday – therefore I should have a lucky day (in theory). Lottery win this weekend?

My lucky number is 6, which some would say is also my mental age.

In terms of planets, I am ruled by Venus – which means I’m HOT, baby!!

I’m sorry about that last bit – I came over all Austin Powers for a second.

So who else is 48? I’ve had a poke around and discovered that the following celebrities are the same age as me:

Axl Rose, Amanda Donahoe, Cal Smillie, Carol Vorderman, Eddie Izzard, Emilio Estevez, Izzy Stradlin, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Jon Bon Jovi, k.d. Lang, Martin Clunes, Meg Ryan, Paula Abdul, Steve Carell and Tom Cruise.

So I’m not doing bad, am I?

I’ll finish off with three facts that nobody knows about me. Here they are (and don’t laugh):

FACT ONE: I WAS BRAD PITT’S STUNTMAN

You can surely see the resemblance between Brad and myself:


I was only the stunt double in one film and sadly it wasn’t Mr and Mrs Smith (as if he needed any help with Angelina Jolie).

No – I am afraid it was The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and here I am:


FACT TWO: I WAS THE THIRD PROCLAIMER


My wonderful singing voice was appreciated by the Scottish duo but unfortunately I couldn’t quite pull off the Scottish accent. They were cruel and they sacked me, even though I wrote thirty songs for them.

Follow the links and look at these songs:

Letter From America

500 Miles

I'm On My Way

I didn’t write any of those.

Still, you can't help but like The Proclaimers - and I'm not saying that because I look like them.

I love the mantra "I'm on my way from misery to happiness today" - that's something I wish I really had written. I love the sentiment of that song.

FACT THREE: I AM THE STIG


Ignore Ben Collins; his claim to be Top Gear’s The Stig is utter bunkum.

I can reveal that I, the Plastic Mancunian, am the man behind the helmet. Here I am in action:



I don’t like scouts:



I have never crashed a car:



FACT FOUR: I AM A LIAR

Yes – the above three facts are utter bollocks.

The only truth is that I am 48 years old.

But you knew that anyway.

I'm In Love With My Car

Why do many men fall in love with their cars?

And if you don’t think that they do, think again. A large number of men are obsessed with their cars and treat them better than they treat their women.

I hasten to add that I am not in this category. I drive, what my mates describe, as a shed on wheels. It is a thirteen year old banger, although the manufacturers prefer to call it a “Ford Escort”. Boy racers and car-obsessed guys pour scorn on my old car, and openly mock me for continuing to use what they also describe as a “heap”.

I’ve owned my car now for about nine years. One of the reasons that I have kept it, instead of succumbing to pressure from car-loving mates to replace it, is that my car is totally and utterly reliable. In the time I have owned it, my car has only let me down once; I broke down on the M62 crawling up a hill in a traffic jam and the car overheated because a fan had failed. The breakdown guy who rescued me managed to get it going within two minutes and I managed to get home without further problems.

Sure, it’s got a few dents, a couple of rusty spots and it has definitely seen better days, but it still goes. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that the point of having a car? Aren’t cars simply meant to be devices that simply take us from A to B?

One thing’s for sure; I am definitely not in love with it. I would be a little miffed if something happened to it, but not for any reason other than the inconvenience it would cause.

There are men I know who have spent hundreds of pounds on their cars; their obsession is laughable. All of their spare time is spent polishing the thing and when you are a passenger in it, you have to watch where you put your feet.

These guys drive around for fun; I HATE driving – the only reason I do it is because it gets me to my destination quicker. I have absolutely no desire to drive around for the hell of it. We’re talking about guys who would marry their cars if it were legal to do so.

One mate of mine was so in love with his car that he barely drove the thing; it sat in his garage and he polished it religiously and rarely went out in it. His wife had an old banger and he used that instead Then came the fateful day when his wife announced that she was pregnant. He was faced with a stark choice. Well, to his wife it was a no-brainer but to him it was a huge problem. Could he afford to keep a high performance beauty of a car that he rarely drove AND have the ability to support his wife and forthcoming child? In the end, common sense prevailed and he sold it. There were tears in his eyes as he handed over the keys. He also handed over a handwritten book about how to look after the car, covering details of which polish to use, how often to service it, etc. and what to call it when he drove it.

And his final word was “If you crash it, I’ll bloody kill you.”

He didn’t say that really but I know that he was thinking it.

You only have to watch TV shows like Top Gear to get a feel for man’s obsession with his four-wheeled friends. The three presenters spend the entire show drooling over the latest high performance motors, blinding us with statistics about how fast the things go:

0 to 60 in 2 seconds – now THERE’S a car

I love the show because it is hilarious but the obsession with cars is there for even the most stupid among us to see.

I must admit that some of the cars featured on the show are quite exquisite to look at but how the hell could the vast majority of people in Britain (or indeed anywhere) afford such a beast? Most of the cars featured on the show cost more than my house. If I were to drive a top of the range Ferrari around Manchester, I would be travelling at 5 mph for fear of damaging it. And woe betide the person who crashed into me.

Why do people spend so much on cars? I don’t understand it. My old banger costs quite a lot to keep it on the road and, although the repair, service and MOT bills are modest, they are still expensive. To service a top of the range car (even a modest saloon) it would cost a fortune. To me that would be a disaster – it would be like throwing my wallet over the cliff – utterly pointless and very expensive.

And have you ever been to a motor show?

A car-loving mate once persuaded me to go down to Birmingham to see a show covering mainly motor sport. He and just about every other male there were drooling over the sports cars, formula one cars, rally cars etc. – I was drooling over the busty models who were sitting on the bonnets of these cars (and I think I was in a minority). Honestly, the place was awash with dribble from car-obsessed men. There were stalls with wheels, bits of engines and all sorts of other anatomical bits and pieces for high performance cars and I have never seen so many men in lust with them. It was absurd and ridiculous. I was bored out of my brain after an hour or so.

My mate spotted a Finnish rally driver and bought a video covering a two year old rally season just so that he could get the guys autograph; I’d never heard of the man, even though I exchanged a few words with him. I can’t even remember his name and I wouldn’t know him again even if I tripped over his outstretched boot.

If only I had been single, good-looking and charming, I could have tried to pull one of the busty models – but sadly that was also a non-starter.

All the way back, my mate enthused over the show and I nodded but lost interest. I haven’t been back to another show.

There is a song by Queen called “I’m In Love With My Car” and I reckon that it could have been written by any one of my mates who are obsessed with their cars. The lyrics are very funny to somebody like me, who regards them as functional devices – here are a few excerpts:

When I’m holdin your wheel
All I hear is your gear
When my hands on your grease gun
Oh its like a disease son

I'm in love with my car
Gotta feel for my automobile
Get a grip on my boy racer rollbar
Such a thrill when your radials squeal

Told my girl I’ll have to forget her
Rather buy me a new carburettor

Here’s the song in full:



I personally think that Roger Taylor’s lyrics probably don’t go far enough for men who love their cars; perhaps they would if the song were called “I’m OBSESSED with my car”, with new lyrics:

When I’m rubbing your wheel
All I feel is your gear
When I’m stroking your bodywork
Oh your touch drives me beserk

I’m obsessed with my car
Want to marry my automobile

Anyway, my old banger does me proud but it will be a sad day when it finally dies and goes to that great garage in the sky.

Why?

Because I’ll have to bloody well fork out for a new one, that’s why.