Oh..to loiter through life inconspicously. Without the dubious delight of the clouds parting for you with its customary cliche of deliverance and light.

You live your life carelessly trespassing all manner of alternatives without a thought. And then you hit forty. The damn clouds do their dirty trick on you. And wham! You cant seem to go anywhere without stepping into big whopping turds. Everywhere you look, there are an encyclopaedic range of whoppers. Nothing seem to be easy anymore. There are only questions. Of every hue, weight and stink. No more is the uninspected carefree trespassing. Gone are the unweighed happy choices.

It is when you have been adled by forty years of living are you lumbered with the humbling questions. It just makes everything so much less jaunty you know. None of the usual bounce.