Woolly Thinking

One of the joys of being beyond the age of caring is that you can let yourself go a bit. Maybe it's a reaction to 40 years of having to wear a suit and tie, but these days I don't bother much about my appearance.

Haircuts? Forget 'em. Long grey beard with bits of last night's dinner in? Bring it on.

It was brought home to me just how far I'd let things slip when I was going through immigration at Tullamarine last year, on the way to see the kids. The smart young Aussie behind the desk spent some considerabe time staring at the photo in my passport, which was almost ten years old. I suppose he was having trouble reconciling the dashing businessman it portrayed with the real life, shambolic old fool that was standing in front of him.

Eventually he eyed me up one last time, and said: 'Gone a bit feral since this was taken, haven't you mate?'

I do so like the Aussie sense of humour.