It hasn't stopped. My sister is back and yet I am still heading ever faster down the road to middle age. Soon I shall be indistinguishable from my mother. This is becoming something of a crisis. The most recent sign occurred last night. I watched, completely alone and of my own volition, a TOTP2 Country Music special. I shall pause here in order to allow you, my dear reader, to make the requisite shocked face.
Country music? What is happening to me? I think it must be Steve Wright's fault. His dulcet tones lulled me into submission. His voice-over appeared to be saying, "It's OK Giraffe-a-licious, if I am involved in this show then it can't be that bad." Why I listened to him I have no idea. He's a Radio 2 DJ for heavens sake! What epitomises the onset of middle age more than the transference of listener loyalty from Radio 1 to Radio 2?
Whatever the cause, the upshot is that I spent a full hour in the company of Kenny Rogers, The Dixie Chicks, Lonestar, Patsy Cline, Keith Urban, Shania Twain and co. Perhaps the only credible moment came from The Eagles' new song and video. I had a permanent hold on the remote in case someone should walk in and find me in such a compromising situation. "I was channel flicking! Honest."
Is there anyway back from this? I fear not. I imagine myself to have reached the edge of a dangerous precipice. Last night I found myself distracted by a Nashville cowboy and fell head first down the cliff. I just hope that there are enough undamaged pieces at the bottom for me to be able to put myself together again. It's not looking good...