Memory Loss, Mothers Maiden Names and A Mid Life Crisis

Posted on 28th February 2015

I’m getting older, fact.

I can’t remember peoples names, I make funny noises when I stand up from the sofa and if I am out and about I never pass a public toilet without taking a trip.

Meanwhile, I have an increasing number of passwords to remember. Not just mine, but also countless client passwords for websites and servers.

Combine the two together and my future looks interesting to say the least.

My saving grace is that I haven’t invested too much money into my mid-life crisis. You won’t find a garish sports car or soft-top on my driveway although I have re-invigorated a new tradition (second year in anyway) of having a lads weekend away.

I say “lads” –  these trips now include pensioners, and, cities like Prague and Barcelona have been replaced with the mecca for the more mature person… Benidorm.

Last year was the first year we went and to prove I can still be a complete bell-end, I managed to climb over a wall and land on a hedge that I insisted was there earlier in the day. It turned out to be a tree thinner than Paul Daniels hair.

gashed headSubsequently, I fell head first onto a rock and split my head open at 1 o’clock in the morning.

Having sobered up my (only two left standing) drinking buddies pretty quick, I was tended too quite effectively. I say quite effectively;  I can imagine a fly-on-the-wall video of the events would have told a much more interesting story that would have made its way onto YouTube.

The next morning, I was feeling sheepish. I phoned my wife in the UK for sympathy… She burst out laughing. I gently sobbed.

It was decided that I really should go to the local hospital.

Now nothing like this has ever happened to me before so I didn’t know the process. Never mind, I said to myself, I’m insured with my bank – I pay every month on my account so by golly I’ll use it.

So, with tissue held against weeping head, I trundled off to the local taxi rank as I called my bank to sort out the process. Slightly faint, slightly hungover, I spoke to a helpful person on the phone who took my account number and password and then put me through to the right department.

Annoyingly, I had to recount the story again. “I’ve split my head open, I need to find a hospital, am I insured?”.

“Yes, I think so” said the other person, “I just need to ask you another question…”

“On your account security, what’s your memorable date?”

I tried one. I tried another and then I kind of lost it a bit… “Are you taking the piss mate, I have blood coming out of my head, I’m in Spain, on my mobile and you won’t help me because I can’t remember a memorable date!”.

“No sir, sorry”.

To add insult to injury I was offered zero sympathy by the Spanish doctor and nurse who welcomed me with an almost French level of courtesy, which include ten staples in my head with NO anaesthetic.

One of these days, I will act my age… If I can remember the first and last digit of my date of birth.

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