On Being an Old Codger.

Being an Old Codger, is I believe, a state of mind rather than a physical condition. There are members of my professional circles who are old codgers and they are at least 20 years younger than me.

However,lately I have begun to consider the signs of old codgerism in myself.

These may indeed include a certain grumpiness and an unwillingness to attend an AC/DC concert. A perpetual bad temperedness. A tendency to talk about the old days when younger people were not a threat to life and limb and wouldn't rob you blind in broad daylight.

Although I am a rather handsome devil, especially when viewed in a poor light, a strict and objective examination reveals one or two codgery traits. I appear, in the mirror, to be a person on the cusp of acquiring codgerism. It seems irrelevant to constantly append the word "old" in front of codger, as it should be plain to all that I am merely a step away from toppling into my own damp and open grave.
 My beard is rather grey, rather than its rusty orange of yore, and believe it or not this unlikely facial addition attracted women faster than the Lynx advert would have you believe. My hair is a nexus of neglect. Professionals deal with it once every year or two. These are the two main indicators, but there are are others.

Sitting in the same seat in the same boozer for year after year is a good indicator. As is the wearing of a codgergown, or cardigan, as you probably call it. This garment should be grey, or a dirty russet brown. Real dyed in the wool codgers do not sit together in pubs . They sit separately. They occupy their own places in the public realm. But this is not to say that they do not communicate with each other.

The phrase "Spurs had a good weekend, then," may well float gruffly away from a corner table.
"Mmmmm....old whatisname played well, African fella," comes the reply from another darkened corner.
Then there is a chorus of Mmmmmms from all the other codgers and a rustling of daily papers.

Outside the snow continues to fall. In the carpark there is a man posing his children in order to take photographs. The children are wearing masks. Horror masks. From a local joke shop. He must be nuts.