One Foot in The Gravey

So next year I will be forty. Yes, I know what most of you will be thinking, “So Darren, where did you get this time machine?”. Well first of all my name is not Darren, it’s Derren and secondly, how fucking rude, I hardly know you. Actually that brings me onto something else, one of the things I’m slightly annoyed about is the recent trend on Twitter for people I have never met, never spoken to, being jaw droppingly rude to me. It’s almost certainly because I write comedy that people seem to think it’s fine to say things they would never say to Steven Poliarkov or Stephen Moffat because they make their living telling largely serious stories and not overtly funny ones. Imagine if someone came up to you in the street while you were having a conversation and said, “now then fatty, you’re looking old aren’t you?”. Yes, like you I would walk away. And Leave him. Lying there.   Now, back to the point, despite my physical decrepitude I am, in fact, only 39 at the time of writing this and I’m not sure what one is supposed to do. Does one have a party and celebrate ones age? Or maybe start lying about it and try and disguise it (bit late for that). I actually think life will begin at 50 for me; for acting anyway. My acting career seems to have fallen by the way side as my writing takes up more of my time but hopefully, in the not too dstant future I’ll be able to combine the two. Or if the writing goes tits up I can hopefully start picking up the work Roy Barraclough can no longer undertake. So what are you gonna do when you’re 40? What DID you do when you were 40? Log onto Twitter and let me know. Oh, but don’t bother tellling me I look like crap, you know the reply you’ll get.