Slipping away

I am beginning to get seriously worried about me. I've been observing myself on the sly for some time now, and there are some worrying signs that I am slipping by degrees into a parallel universe. Let me give you a few examples of how I seem to be unravelling:
- Not worrying any more about global warming and my carbon footprint, though I still recycle my empty wine bottles out of habit, and possibly vestigial guilt;
- Learning to live with the realisation that my purchase of a Lambretta Li125 Scooter in 1961 initiated the catastrophic melting of the Greenland ice cap;
- No longer reading or listening any more to the news beyond the headlines: I can supply the rest, ie, speculation, comment and armageddon;
- Preferring more and more the company of children, birds, moths and other invertebrates, on the grounds that they are what they seem to be, nothing phony;
- Interesting conversations these days (apart from those with children, birds, moths and other invertebrates) with my dog, Betsy, who died three years ago, but still responds as she always did to my dissertations and diatribes with warmhearted indifference;
- Realising the amazing variety of things that can kill me without me doing anything to encourage them, eg, cancers, strokes and heart disease. Now, I eat what I want and drink what I want, so, if my liver gives out, at least it was my doing;
- Getting what sexual frissons I can out of the Antiques Roadshow, Bargain Hunt and Cash in the Attic. Not easy, believe me, though Kate Alcock can still cause me to stir my coffee a little more vigorously than strictly necessary.
Vayan con Dios.