What is it about Time?

It seems to whoosh by faster and faster as we age. Maybe Father Time has a cruel sense of humour. Maybe it takes thirty years or so for him to build up momentum. Then he is off! A blur, a whirlwind of speed and tumbling leaves.

I personally believe he’s ploughing through a midlife crisis. He’s step-for-step with every middle-aged person out there. I think he’s snagged himself a high powered sports car. He’s tired of plodding along on foot. His joints ache. His feet hurt.

I can see him now – zooming along in a bright red Lambo, the top down, his beard flapping behind him like some bristly, snapping flag. I bet he doesn’t slow down for corners or forks in the road because all of his wrinkles have vanished, smoothed by g-forces and a big toothy grin. I know I would have the pedal to the metal if it smoothed out my wrinkles.

Let’s hope someone rolls out a roadblock before he drives off a cliff.