I was always a very patient man, or so I thought. So, when did I change? When did I become a ‘ranter’? Was it through working in the steelworks for 28 years? By getting married, maybe? Or by becoming a parent? To tell you the truth, I don’t think I can (or should, or dare!) pinpoint anything, anyone or any time in particular. It wasn’t a sudden occurrence but rather a slow, gradual tipping over the edge of the abyss. Suffice to say, it has happened and that’s that. My grandchildren don’t call me ‘Grumpy Grumps’ for nothing!
I’m 52 years old. There’s a good starting point! I don’t think anyone would compare me to a fine vintage wine, refined by age. I’m getting worse year by year. I often find myself cursing the simplest of things, declaring unbridled hatred for innocent, everyday household objects. If you were to ask my family if they ever hear me swear at, say, cupboard doors or the tin opener, I’m sure they would recall the odd, isolated occasion!
Anyway, some part of my brain thinks it would be a good idea to get certain things off my chest. Things that have a tendency to ‘set me off on one’. Hopefully, I’ll do it with humour, probably with sarcasm, possibly with irony but, most of all, with downright indignation!