the Ageing Rockstar and i are in the habit of loafing around in bed for a while before rising in the morning. this is a habit which is brought on by oldness, although it is common in teenagers as well. we have a cup of tea and put the world to rights. more accurately we have a cup of tea and i put the world to rights, reading choice morsels about Trump's latest debacle from the online Guardian to the Ageing Rockstar, who does his best to ignore them, while focusing on guitars or electronic gadgetry on eBay. 

due to my new health regime, i now have a bowl of porridge for breakfast. this can be a rather unwieldy thing to eat in bed, especially if one's bedmate is prone to pulling the duvet up round his chin and moaning about the cold. if the porridge bowl is resting on the duvet when this happens the results can be calamitous. fortunately my reactions are like lightening, and to date i have managed to avoid porridging the Ageing Rockstar. i did have cause to remonstrate with him yesterday, when he was overly vigorous in his duvet-tugging.

"careful! you will have the whole bed covered in porridge!"

the Ageing Rockstar flapped his arms about and shrieked in horror. i then added that this particular porridge also contained prunes, which brought forth higher-pitched shrieks with more vigorous flapping.

"you can't cover me in porridge! or prunes! i'll be ill!"

i asked whether he would rather i went over to yoghurt and fruit instead. this concoction has the disadvantage of being a lurid pink colour.

"agh no! you would cover me in pinkness instead! that's even worse!" 

"well, keep still then! i may even come up with a recipe for pink porridge! that would serve you right for being so princessy!" 

today i finished listening to a book by another, slightly more famous, Ageing Rockstar. his closing chapter included a mention of being 62, and almost completely deaf but refusing to wear hearing aids, and curmudgeonly. i told the Ageing Rockstar about this and said it sounded exactly like him. 

"i expect everyone around him has to say everything twice," i mused, "they probably feel like echoes too."

"you can get a thing that makes echoes," the Ageing Rockstar informed me, "its called an Echoplex."

so, dear reader, it appears that i have a role in life after  all. i am a human Echoplex...


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