As if you have to go by maps and charts and formulae, look out for the signs. Plan retirement. Look for punters with facial hair because they're suspect, more likely than not the criminal element. Also women without handbags: a woman without a bag is suspect too. But what can you do when things are so unpredictable and even complex carry-ons like science can't help? What with the legs not being so steady anymore and you were never a very fast runner runner anyways but always had a full sex life. And you weren't really a happy person yet not all that sad either just sort of quietly melancholic. Like it mattered? It's not a matter of anything cause you can always force a smile or fire an extra wee whisky down the throat in those awkward social situations: crack a wee joke then get cynical before bursting out with tears and going home to your bed. For some reason that's what always happened. Wake up with the head under the pillow feeling guilty and shameful, hoping nobody'll mention about the tears in the next week or so until you get over it or are maybe ready to try again. Try again at the facing up. But with the auld dodgy pins things aren't so easy. It was planning that was required now. Planning and a clear head but christ the pins are no use anymore, too unsteady. You can't move the same, the way you used to get about. You can't move the same way to plan and everything takes much longer. And you're inside it, inside the thing with fear and the personal history, the whole extent of it stretching away back into the distance there. There was emotion, love and hate and so on as well. Heartache and all that luggage, personal luggage that you can't carry anymore. Can't carry on with because of the unsteady legs. But what can you do? Look in the mirror. Naw. Just too unbearably sad to face up to the auld face.

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