Golden hues, dappled sunlight, misty mornings... What's not to like about this time of year? Well there is something
I like autumn. I really do. But I can’t shake off the sense of foreboding that it brings - being, as it is, the least popular of the two analogous seasons. Because let’s face it, there can be few who wouldn’t rather be a spring chicken than in the autumn of their years.
Personally I’m now in the position of having to accept the latter. Baring an unlikely entry into the Guinness Book of Records at some stage in the distant future, it’s safe to say I’m well into the second half of my life. True, time added on for injuries is still some way off, so it’s definitely the autumn, and not the chilling prospect of winter. But without question the Saga Years are upon me. And I really wish they weren't.
Because there’s a good way of telling whether someone’s been ‘visited’ by Saga. And it doesn’t involve rifling through our junk mail. Quite simply, modern life hacks us off.
Take ‘smart’ phones updating their own software whether you like it or not, then not working the way we’d only just got used to them working - that’s irritating. Netflix. What even is it? Cars that beep at you incessantly for no reason whatsoever. Annoying. Social media. All of it. Intensely irksome. The snowflake generation, royal ‘victims’, people who aren’t victims but insist they are, people who don’t know what they are but expect something to be done about it… I could go on.
In fact I will. Sat nav. What’s wrong with maps? Parking cameras. Use your eyes, man. Alexa. What is she? God? Virtual reality. Isn’t actual reality good enough for you?
But of all the things that irritates us intensely… Well, okay, me anyway, but probably lots like me… It’s the simple question that confirms without doubt that we’re in the autumn of our years.
For pete’s sake, what happened to all the leaves before leaf blowers?
A mutton for punishment, Black Sheep welcomes all comments. Email firstname.lastname@example.org to air your points of view. You can also read Black Sheep in Welsh Border Life every month
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