Turning 60.

It was a beautiful day today, Saturday- the sun was shining, the birds were singing....well, maybe not singing, but generally flying about; you get the picture.

I decided to go for a walk along the beach. On my way there, a bloke on a bike cycled past me. He pulled into a house along the way and started to have a really loud (I mean LOUD- you may have heard him) conversation through the open window with the people inside. I could hear the noises of merriment spilling out the window and he was shouting in to them: 'You're all drunk!'

I pursed my lips in that 'soon-to-be-sixty' scowl of disapproval. What a racket; and in the middle of the day, too. Tsk, tsk.

And then a memory came back to me. I remembered times when I had been with friends, having a good time, drinking a bit more than we probably should have- and being just as rowdy, I'm sure. It was so much fun! It's been so long since I sat with my buddies, just kicking back and cutting up, enjoying a drink or three.

I started thinking how nice it would be to be able to do it again.

But here's the thing.

Quite a few of them are gone. Departed. Left. Off to the Great Bar in the Sky.

Here I've been fretting because I'm going to turn 60 soon; well, a lot of my friends didn't get that far.

So I thought it would be nice to remember some of them here- and some of you reading this will know the names and characters. Here, in no particular order:

My dear pal Harry- one of the smartest man I ever met, and also possibley the drunkest.

Barbara Johnstone- the smartest woman I ever met, and again, possibley the drunkest! But between drinks she certainly knew how to live, that's for sure.

Johny Stewart- best man at my wedding and a truly loyal friend. He seized life by the jaws of the ass and never quit.

Hector and Timmy- they were both such rascals. We had a lot of fun together. I can even remember some of it.

My lovely pal Rosie- she couldn't handle turning 60 either, so she made sure she didn't. Twenty years later and I'm still mad at her for that. But I also still love her.

Caroline Morpeth- I always remember her, selling cookware, telling a very shocked Canadian audience that in England, we used to enjoy a Sunday joint.

Jack the Jockey and Karen Hunter. She went first and he followed not long after- the certificate said the Big C, but we all knew it was a broken heart.

My dear friend Wendy's husband Joe- we called them Wonderful Wendy and Marvellous Joe- I used to watch them leaving the Ohio State fairgrounds, when we were all exhausted, dishevelled and totally thrashed- but there they were, holding hands. Seeing them always gave me hope!

And Darryl Campbell- aka the Man Who Cared- and went for the last ride on his motorbike one day.

None of these friends made 60. And now, after thinking about this list- maybe I don't mind becoming that age so much at all! In fact, I'm beginning to feel quite privileged.

As my good friend BC said the other day, via email:

'It's 60- my waistline, your age, get over it.
At least you made it.'

He's right, isn't he?