contact:   July 2017  



One of the things that I have noticed about getting older is my change in eating and drinking habits, my tastes have changed.  Where once I would spurn green vegetables in favour of meat and potatoes (be that chipped, mashed, roasted or boiled) now my body demands it.  My inner plumbing can no longer handle the lack of fibre.  Sitting in the bathroom is no longer a minor irritant; I have reached the time of life where I am afraid to push too hard in case it provokes a heart attack.  Who the hell wants to go the way of Elvis and be found with their trousers around their ankles with the startled expression of a person who knew they should have avoided the steak and chips and had a chicken salad?


Worn Out Boots

Oct '15

Feb '15

March '15

Aug '15

Sept '15

Oct '15


Truth About Fracking

If you thought fracking was safe then you might want to take a look at this clip.

Now I am at a loss if my fridge is without rocket. In restaurants people of my age stampede towards a salad bar with the same zeal we did as teenagers at a works parties when one of the bosses stupidly says ‘Open bar, help yourselves’
Although I must admit even at my age I couldn’t face those gherkins found in fast food burger joints.


Alcohol has also taken on new depths of insanity, gin was once an old woman’s drink but friends who have recently hit forty swear by a G&T of a Friday evening.  Men who once sank 10 pints of a Saturday night before heading to the local disco, medallions nestled in the hair of their chests, moobs framed by an open silky polyester shirt would finish the evening sinking gallons of Bacardi and coke.  They would approach a young lady and say things like ‘Come home with me, babe, I’ll make you see fireworks...’  What he actually meant was the static electricity caused by the shirt rubbing on his chest hairs would find a sudden release as he whipped off the garment causing temporary blindness or her £6 perm explode in so many different directions she would take on the appearance of either a seeding dandelion or a lost member of the Hair Bear Bunch.  Those same men hit middle-age and suddenly they develop a taste for Real Ale, pork scratchings and the excitement of a game of dominos (if they really want to push the boat out there is always bar billiards.).
As women get older the Gin gets drier, the glass gets longer, the tonic shorter.  These lovely ladies that watched their figures to the extent they would count every calorie in a cucumber slice change, now in their forties their only concession to middle-age spread is to ask for slimline tonic to go with their mothers ruin.


My sisters would eat so much Ryvita if you took all the packets they munched their way through in a year and stacked them in a field you would have a structure that could withstand a Chieftain Tank round.  It wasn’t food it was a form of weaponry, they could eat it or toss it across the room like a Western version of a ninja throwing star at annoying little brothers.  Many is the kid that would end up with a centre parting after mocking his sister across the dinner table.  These food projectiles could imbed themselves up to 3 inches in brickwork and still be consumed with salmon or cream cheese!

Furry Tiger

Cool Cats drink Gin, who knew?


The other thing that has changed is as you get older you go off extra nocturnal activities.  Where once sexual adventures could see you hanging off the wardrobe by one arm whilst clutching a box of condoms and a tub of Vaseline in middle-age you suddenly need to book the activity a fortnight in advance with a chiropractor booked for the next day.  It takes you all night to do what you used to do all night.
Men try and deflect these failings with stupid sayings like “Many a good tune played on an old fiddle.”.  Hogwash, these days cougars don’t want a fiddle they want you to know how to do manoeuvres the reverse cowgirl whilst feeding them grapes and looking good.  When you reach my age the only way you will look good in those positions is if she is blind, the lights are out or both.  I was recently asked how I felt about threesomes and the first thing that came to mind was it sounded really tiring.  My body isn’t build for speed or performance these days, there are some that would argue it never was, if I was a car I would be reliable and comfortable. It doesn’t matter what is under the hood you know it will make it from A to B, coughing and wheezing maybe, but still in one piece and with most of the rights bits in roughly the right places.


Somebody asked me yesterday what my 5-a-day are and I started listing my medication. It’s all wrong. We used to pop pills for a buzz and now we take them to stop the buzzing. If I want to feel lightheaded and spacey like I did as a teenager I just get out of a hot bath too quick or walk up a flight of stairs.

I have pills when I wake up, pills when I go to bed. I swear the other day I went over a bumpy road and I rattled not the car.  The highlight of my year is a prostate exam, not because I enjoy it but because somebody actually asks how I am.  It’s hard to be evasive when the person asking the question has a finger up your back passage.  You suddenly feel the need to be completely honest, you would probably give them your bank account details and pin number if they asked. All the while you are staring intently at one spot on the opposite wall praying the person doing the exam has a medical qualification and isn’t somebody there just to fix the photocopier who thought it looked fun.

Welcome to Old Boots, did you miss us?





So once again I thank those of you who have stopped by, took the time to email, shouted at me in the street etc and I hope you will call again.  Please visit the gift shop on the way out.

- J.

‘Swansong’ by GM Jordan’s is published by Markosia and is available from Amazon and on all good e-book platforms.

Swansong SC

'Swansong' by GM Jordan (Markosia, 2015)