A weekly series of riffs in 200 words
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I’m sixty-four?
As my partner and I mark our thirty-first wedding anniversary, I’m reminded of the 1966 Beatles Classic, purportedly written by Paul McCartney when he was just sixteen.
We’re nowhere near sixty-four yet but wedding anniversaries – like birthdays – are another way of reminding ourselves that Old Father Time continues his steady march (which is why I usually prefer to ignore such occasions).
The reason for mentioning it now is that, if you are reading these 200 words, it’s because I’ve escaped from my seven-day diet of snorkelling, beachwalking and reading, to find a computer, click on the draft button and press ‘publish’. And that will be the full extent of my computer interaction, as I lap us some much needed R&R in Fiji.
I could be facetious and say it’s typical of a man to worry about who would feed him when he’s sixty-four (you’d think he might have learnt how to feed himself) but I would never stoop so low as to have such a crack, would I?
Now excuse me: I’ sure I have a husband, a tray of fresh fruit and a masseuse waiting. Bula!
The answer to Friday’s Fictionary Dictionary
Kobold is…a mischievous household sprite