Old Father Time

I have written much about Time -  the evil force that rules our lives, regulating its speed of passage to suit its own ends and defeat yours.  It's been at it again but this time it's playing one of its cruellest tricks.  The cumulative passing of those interminable seconds and super-fast hours have delivered me to yet another birthday; this one ending in a zero, but with a disconcertingly higher number in front of it!
When I wake up tomorow I will be 60!
There, I've said it so I suppose it must be true.  But how did it happen?  Only five minutes ago I was thirty.  Where did forty and fifty go?
Meanwhile there is a conflict going on between my brain and my body on the subject of age.  In my head I'm thirty eight.  Why my cerebral processes have stalled on that particular age I'm not sure.  No matter; my brain refuses to acknowledge the advance of time beyond 1989.
On the other hand, not to mention legs, back, ankles and hips, my body is fully aware of how old I actually am and even adds a few more years from time to time for good measure.
So the brain says "Hey, how about entering the London marathon next year?"  At which my body, useless with wear and tear and helpless with laughter at the mere suggestion resorts to humour.
"Run a marathon! You pull a muscle running a bath."  ( I didn't say it was good or even new humour).
And then, just to prove a point, it puts my back out while I'm pulling on my socks.
And then there's the evidence of my outer appearance.  As I was approaching fifty, people used to say when my birthday came round that they would have put me at least five years younger than my actual age.  Now no-one bats an eyelid when I say I'm nearly sixty!  I fully expect from now on the most likely comment will be "Is that all? I thought you were a lot older!"
Oh well, Time has triumphed again.
I'm going to risk life and limb now and run a bath and see if I can beat my previous record.