Irritated. Frustrated. It's an emotional state that cannot adequately be expressed in words. It's something like having your own copy of the latest Potter book but it's locked up at the Post Office 'cos you're not free to collect it; or having a spanking new pair of inlines waiting for you to try them out on the weekend, but it's only Tuesday.

Things tantalizing within reach, but just out of touch.

The last weekend and a couple of other incidents before, I remembered the joy of movement powered by a once healthy body. The sweat, the huffy breath, the adrenaline. Now with muscles atrophying and joints stiffening it's a struggle to do all that stuff with the ease, confidence and form that 10 or so years ago I might have taken for granted.

I can still pretend that my 4th decade isn't rapidly charging towards me like a steer with a poker stuffed up its butt; that my life hadn't really began 10-15 years later than other normal people's, but the body doesn't lie. And sadly it doesn't forget either.

And it doesn't help either when your contemporaries from secondary school (class of '81) have finally tracked you down and started talk about a possible 25th anniversary reunion.

Can I stay in denial, just for another month? Please?