When I Grow Up

When I reach the big five-o
I’ll catch up with the clock.
I’ll give up eating Milky Bars
and drinking fizzy pop.
No hanging out with kids in the park,
no vandalising swings.
This time next week, when I grow up,
I’ll do many things

At that mid centenary
and for days to come,
I’ll take my boots off when in bed,
buy easy-listening albums.
I’ll take my hat off in the bath,
give up toy cigarettes,
talk politics and equity,
do mid-age etiquette.

This time next week, when I mature
and get that golden key,
I will be just like your dad,
and he’ll be just like me
I’ll take my pills, watch Question Time,
read golfing magazines,
get someone in to clean the drains,
and kill those irksome bees

I was born in 1964,
a long long time ago.
Newsnight wasn’t on back then,
and I refused to grow.
Fifty million days of childhood,
fifty million nights.
That’s a lot of Sting lps
to check out when I die.