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The downside of maturity is atrophy.

Of course, this statement is based on the assumption that one becomes more mature the older one gets. In my case, that ain't necessarily so. As far as having a mature outlook on life is concerned, I think I peaked a long time ago. But the atrophy oh yes, that's definitely happening.

For me the signs of terminal decay started in my late 30s when strands of my hair turned a whiter shade of grey. It wasn't a consistent process. Parts of my hair (on my head that is!) maintained a youthful almost black hue, but the silver streaks started to appear dramatically on my temples. Some people thought I'd had them deliberately dyed for special effect and that I was having some kind of advanced mid-life crisis. And I overheard some of my students refer to me as that bloke who looks like a badger'.

For a short time I couldn't resist the narcissistic urge to apply chemicals to my follicles in the hope of reducing the stark contrast between the grey and the black. It was not one of my best decisions. One particular product I used was stronger than I realised. I left it on too long and it turned into a sleek uncompromising black that made my hair look like one of those plastic Beatles wigs that were sold to gullible kids in the 60s. The effect was heightened by my beard which remained stubbornly brindled and betrayed to the world that I was not a natural raven-haired person.

I reached for the razor and the beard was gone within minutes. But unfortunately, my 20-year-old hair now accentuated the pastiness of my 40-year-old face. There was no chance in hell that I could convince my friends, family and work colleagues that this was a natural transformation.

The situation was partly salvaged by my hairdresser who agreed to book me in early and apply more chemicals to replace the missing grey. It looked marginally better but the effect was never forgotten. I was even teased about it by one of my best friends when he gave a speech during my 50th birthday party.

By this time, other signs of decrepitude had already set into this crumbling temple of my body. I was a regular visitor to the chiropractor, acupuncturist, reflexologist, dietician, stress counselor and optician.

Now the latest bodily function to forsake me is my hearing. Like my hair, it's a partial process of advancing decrepitude. For most ranges of sound I have no problem. But there's a particular pitch that my ears can no longer process effectively and that's the pitch that is common to most

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