Daily News Online

Tuesday, 20 March 2012






Marriage Proposals
Government Gazette

When old wolves line-up for love... :

Grandpops get ego popped to the past!

Make way for the seasoned strategists, a band of old-timers at whose expense Mother Nature has pulled a cruel joke. Everyone is aware that they basically a completely pathetic old lecher who never got past any of his sleazy flirtations.

The Yanks say they put a man on the Moon. And some women say if they put a man on the moon, they should be able to put them all up there. But again the old lechers go one step further making a giant romantic leap for mankind by being over the moon with their fantasies of debauchery.

I have observed a guy named Douggie, an ancient man in running shorts stretching his antiquated leg muscles on a fence as a bevy of young women trots by and suddenly the purpose of running becomes very clear.Youth.The preservation and elongation of youth, the postponement of decrepitude. Good luck, old man!

Then there was this astonishingly self-deluded, portly old rake who used to visit the press club after being sympathetically placed in the journalistic geriatric paddock because of his committed years of service. He was always collapsing into a hunch over his drink snarling at his fellow male imbibers. He was the very image of the cynical misanthrope.

But he was the epitome of charm and chivalry whenever a woman walked in. His unshakable belief in his ability to seduce anything in skirts periodically transformed him into the eternal secondary school Romeo. He was an unattractive, old, huge, sweating, dull man who loved to chat up and expect dates from young, pretty girls. This is a recurrent theme I have seen many a time. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with older men chatting up younger women or unattractive men chatting up pretty women.

We all have our qualities that cannot be predetermined at face-value. However there are extreme situations and what makes them more extreme is the audacity with which the man desperately and unrelentingly propositioned the dames.

So what is the verdict? Do these men look in the mirror ever or listen to themselves speak? Are they simply delusional? Or maybe they have managed to convince a few highly insecure females to go out with them through constant flattery and desperate behaviour and this has in turn caused them to have higher expectations?

It has also been said that there is no fool like an old fool, except a young fool. But the young fool has first to grow up to be an old fool to realise what a darn fool he was when he was a young fool.

As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch what they do. A journalist soon learns the art of human psychology by simply observing. As they say, a psychologist is a man who watches everyone else when a beautiful girl enters the room.

They are well past the stage of middle age when a man is at the peak of his earning power. But these old fools are in their dotage and have still not relinquished their yearning power. Yes gentle reader, it seems all too true that Mother Nature gives nuts to those with no teeth.

That is what She did to an old satyr colleague named Norman, who imagined he was God's gift to womankind. Every time he opened his mouth he held forth on his amorous triumphs.

One would have thought that he was singlehandedly responsible for the Norman Conquests. Now Norman was also a fellow columnist at the newspaper in Hong Kong I worked in. He too was given a picture byline. He was the kind of dead end writer meaning he had stopped growing at both ends and was now growing in the middle. His favourite clichés were hackneyed ones such as: 'There is many a good tune played on an old fiddle. Or another that went: 'Women should be obscene and not heard' and 'a man is only as old as the woman he feels'.

Anyway, we were once at the bar of the Hong Kong Press Club when an attractive young woman came up and sort of snuggled beside Norman. She burrowed in, not so much out of affection, but rather because when Norman leans against the end of the bar, there's not a lot of room left to work with. Being a middle-aged man with low self esteem and a raging Peter Pan complex, Norman noticed her right away. They exchanged pleasantries. Norman now imagining he had a trace of the casanova magic started a conversation. His goofy grin was priceless to witness.

The usual response he received in such situations was: "Stop staring at me you dirty, old lech!" Norman ordered a drink for her and popped the question: "So what's your name?" She replied: "Jane!" Norman quipped: "You Jane! Me Tarzan!"

The young woman smiled, a blazing pearly blast. "You are Norman Langford who writes all those columns in the paper, right? " He admitted proudly that he was, adding: "That is me. Sorry if I have offended you anytime." She shot back: "Oh no, I don't read them. Do you know you were in school with my....."

Norm cut her short: "Oh, with your sister right?" The pretty lass shook her head doubtfully but before she could answer Norm expostulated: "Okay I get it. I can see the resemblance now. You are Elaine's daughter. I used to take your mother dancing!"

Young Jane went into titters: "Not really! But close enough! It was actually Shirley, my maternal grandmother!" I am talking about an incident that occurred about a dozen years ago. Norm even then refused to admit that he was more than 54, even if that made his children illegitimate.

Young Jane went on: "Oh, I almost forgot why I came! Gran is celebrating her 67th birthday on Saturday. She would be delighted to see you there. It would be a wonderful surprise because we are inviting all her old school friends as well." The barman ducked behind the counter and was rolling on the floor convulsed with mirth.

The loungers at the bar exploded uproariously in one accord. The place was engulfed with spilled drinks and the gurgle of liquid laughter.

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