I'm writing this at 11pm, it's torrential rain out, the sound of which is quite calming actually. Which is what I need as I really can't cope with the thought that tomorrow I'll be 60. Scrapheap time. I enjoyed turning 50, I took five weeks leave, on the actual day I visited London. 55 sort of came and went without comment. But 60 is grim. I'm feeling my age now. This afternoon we walked 6.1 miles along the strawberry line from Congresbury to Nye Lane. Not far, but I struggled and this evening my legs have been so stiff I could hardly move. I'm not old of course but this ageing process is absolutely rubbish, don't let anyone persuade you otherwise. I can't do anything about the clock ticking over to 6-0, but I don't need to like it. The walk was actually nice and we helped an elderly couple find their dog which had run off. We saw it in the fields after speaking to it's owner who had stopped us, and with the help of another lady and her son Memphis was reunited with his owner. I missed the actual reunion but Julie was there and there was lots of tail wagging. I like to think my bellowing of his name brought him back safely.
11.10pm, signing off now for the last time in my fifties.
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