Yes. 22 has come. I have now sailed past the teens, and past 21. A fiercely young age really, but none the less, old. I can’t really get up to mischief any more. Mischief is for people 21 and under. I must be good and mature. Bollocks!
I will in my hole be mature. Why on earth would I cease to have the craic? Admittedly, hangovers are a more present evil now which should theoretically put an end to the three day benders of my younger days. I’m nursing a pounding headache this morning. And working Monday to Friday shoul
d
curb it even more (it has).
But I’m still young. So fuuucck that! I shall have the craic. Get up to no good. Run from the Gardai. Craic will be had. There will be craic.
So shag it. I shall not conform to ageing. I’m not gonna buy a motorcycle or nothing. This is not a mid-life crisi
s. This
is
mere
youth.
Live forever.
