Up The Duff

Erm, hang on - it ain't me that's up the duff (that spreading paunch may have mislead you into believing I was talking about me - but I'm not. That's just fat. More on that later). No, not me. It is my Cloggy Friend. First she goes swanning off back to The Netherlands and then she goes getting up the duff (I'm sure you already knew this Ex-Stalker Friend - but if not, yes, that's right - I do mean her).

Now I'm certainly no baby fan, but I'm going to have to admit to this. Listen though, I'm telling you this in confidence, so keep it to yourself. When I read the email telling me that she's up the duff, I did get a small tear in my eye. Which I quickly blinked back before anyone saw.

Despite the fact that most of my friends are waving goodbye to their twenties, very few have been producing the nations new generation, or, in fact, tying the knot. So just let me tell you - that tear was nothing to do with being sentimental. No siree - it was the lamentation of finally having to accept that the time has come. My friends are starting to get up the duff. I am officially old.