I’m younger than I thought I was. That’s not some sort of spiritual epiphany either, it’s just that I’m an idiot who has spent the whole year thinking he was thirty-two; and being miserable yesterday because he thought he was now thirty-three. I’m a year younger than I thought I was. Bargain.
So, hoping that the serendipitous trend might continue, I’ve been testing some of the other assumptions I’ve held about myself. For a long time, I’ve thought I was five foot six, but upon measuring myself this morning, I am actually six foot two, and what I thought was copious stockpiles of fat actually turn out to be a six pack and a chest that can open bottles.
I can also skateboard. Not the delicate balancing act I long held myself capable of, but I can do Ollies, grinds the lengths of pavements, and three sixties in half pipes the size of a house. So, with a bit of Amazon searching, I discovered that the popular skating franchise on the games consoles is actually named after me. Try Googling Simon Dunn Underground 2 and see what happens.
I’ve also just had a call from Rafa Benitez, who has asked me why I haven’t turned up to training for the past ten years. Apparently, he would have picked me in place of Stevie Gerrard had he thought I was interested, and he apologised for continuing to pay me hundreds of thousands of pounds in wages, and hoped that I wasn’t offended.
I suppose I should pass on my own apologies to my wife and children who have been waiting for me in my mansion for the past six months.
It’s also quite gratifying to discover that I penned the TV shows The West Wing, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Firefly, The Wire, The Shield, and Seinfeld, and that my feature film debut was a well-received updating of Star Trek.
Oh no, hang on, none of that’s true is it? I might only be 32, but I do still look like the backend of a spoon.