Something is getting on my nerves lately.
Well, something new. All the old things are still getting on my nerves too, but this is one I haven't noticed before - or that I'm noticing with far more frequency.
I've always been a fast walker. If ever I go for a walk with Louise, she always asks me to slow down. It's not like I'm in a hurry to get anywhere, I just have a naturally fast pace. I don't like walking slowly, unless I'm stopping to admire the view, and let's face it - in Bradford, there's no view to admire.
So when I walk across town for my daily caffeine fix, I'm used to passing most of the people who are going in my direction. Because most people walk slower than me. And that's fine. I don't barge them out of the way like Richard Ashcroft, I just step around them and carry on my mission.
But lately, more and more people seem unwilling to let me pass. Instead they start to speed up, to match my pace, or even get ahead. They want to race. Which in turn makes me walk even faster. Till we're virtually sprinting through the centre of Bradford like the winner gets Cafe Nero's last ever Americano, and the loser dies of caffeine withdrawal. Only they're not even going for a coffee... they just don't want me to get ahead.
Look, I don't ask for much out of life. But if I want to walk past you - please just let me walk past you. It isn't a race. There isn't a prize. This is just my natural pace and I don't like following you. Who does it hurt?
Actually, thinking about this, it's just one more nail in my mid-life coffin. I know why it's happening. It's because I'm getting old, isn't it? It's because those damned young people can't face the fact that a soon-to-be 39 year-old fogey has a quicker step than them. And it's only going to get worse, and more frustrating, and drag me further still into a trough of despond... with every passing year.
There's nothing else for it. I'm gonna have to get a segway.
