Young Forever

Jay-Z has done a very good job with the old Alphaville classic.

Rather apposite:

Reminisce, talk some shit forever young is in your mind

So there I was, all vasovagal after having needles rammed into my wrists and in need of a recovery plan, lying in my car with my feet on the steering wheel. I know, I'll visit Jacques at City Rock.

The shop looked like Christmas. I thought about buying some stretch Prana pants. But I don't need those. I don't even really want those. Then I thought about buying some silly La Sportiva toe-thingies. They have a fancy name, but honestly, I couldn't take them seriously. My R 20 slops from Pick and Pay seem suitably unsuitable for staggering round at the base of the crag.

Then I spied it. An entire (insert correct collective noun) of wire gates with slinky connecting slings. I sidled over and fondled them. I went through the entire range, checking for the sound the gates makes when they close. You can do this with cars too, and their doors. Testing the resistance, then give, of the gates. Searching for the exquisite sensation that an incredibly well-crafted carabiner offers to the sensitive and expert hand.

Jeez, dude. Get a grip. This is starting to read like a potential entry for Pseuds Corner.

OK, so I bought the lot. The entire fricking lot. They weigh nothing. 12 of them weigh less than one of my old ones.

Matt arrived. My ex-girlfriend used to ovulate spontaneously at the sight of Matt's muscles. This pissed me off so much I broke up with her. Now, as I know she sometimes reads this blog, I have to say that it's possible not everything in the last two sentences is true. Don't sue me, babe!

At last, the denouement of this incredibly tortured narrative.

I reminisced, talked some shit and forever young was on my mind, so when the surgeon yells cut I'll be fine. I'm Forever Young.