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Midlife Crisis Jersey Style

What?s up, dudes?  I know that this magazine is mostly read by the hip youngsters out there, but I bet there?s more than a few guys like me who grab a copy too – cool guys, fun guys, guys who have a Harley Davidson and a lot of time on their hands since they got divorced.  We like to party too, and maybe that?s why we ditched the old ball and chain and ended up with a hot girlfriend half our age.  Sometimes you need a woman that understands you, and life?s too short to say no just because she?s six years older than your daughter and happens to be your secretary. Right, guys? High five!

Men like us live life like a Lamborghini driving in the fast lane, and it?s no surprise that not everybody can keep up.  Some of you are just driving a sensible Volvo, so don?t bother honking your horn when Wendell Stamps overtakes.  I can?t even hear you, because my Bang and Olufsen stereo is rocking with the latest album from U2, and I have to tell you it?s up pretty loud.

I?m an Easy Rider, roaring down the highway of life with the wind in what remains of my hair.  Maybe if the former Mrs Stamps had spent less time popping Valium and more time doing Bikram Yoga she might not have been traded in for a younger model, but life?s too short for bitterness about the past. I?ve stopped caring if that ridiculous, over-generous divorce settlement gets wasted on a few more facelifts, because unlike some people I?m going full speed ahead and it doesn?t matter if I get a few points on my licence.

Tuck your shirt into your jeans

If you?re lucky enough to find yourself with time and money on your hands, then you couldn?t be living in a better place than Jersey, isle of older dudes and the girls who love them.  I?m literally spoiled for choice when thinking of things to do and places to hang out – sometimes I can?t decide which restaurant to sit outside, talking loudly into my phone about investment deals and making sure that everybody can see my watch.  As long as they sell expensive wine, I?m not fussed, because one of the pleasures of being a stylish man in your fifties is that you get to know a lot about wine.  People love it when I talk to them about my interests in fine wine, real ale, vintage cars and my collection of shiny Apple devices. Would you like to see what my iPhone 4 can do? It?s amazing.

Most weekends, I like to hop in my pimped ride and catch some waves in St Ouen, or maybe just park the BMW by the beach with the surfboard on top.  If I?m not in the mood to ?hang ten?, I might put on some lycra and take a spin on the racing bike I bought when me and the other partners did a race for charity last year.  It cost six grand because it?s made entirely of experimental carbon fibre, which means it was pretty light when I had to push it up the hill at La Pulente.  Business isn?t all about mergers and tax avoidance, and it?s great to give something back – between the eight of us we raised over £2000 for some village in Africa. I just hope it?s one like you see in National Geographic magazine – where the girls are topless all the time.

Dancing on the ceiling

When the youngsters at work ask me how I?ve still got the energy to be partying with them past midnight on Friday, I discreetly wipe the crumbs out my nostrils and tell them that my motto is ?work hard, play hard? – which is why I have more in common with the young bucks than I do with my greying, happily married contemporaries.  Unlike some of the partners at the firm, I?m not the kind of quitter who drops out with a heart attack on the squash court – whilst they?re getting bored with their ageing wives I?m spending the weekend with some girls I met in Ibiza.  I even went to one of those raves – the music?s a bit fast, but I didn?t let that stop me from showing off my moves, because I?ve still got Saturday Night Fever.

I?d always heard a lot of men say that life begins at fifty, and I?d never believed them, but it?s true.  I may not have the boyish good looks of my twenties, but that?s nothing that a daily session on the sunbed and some expensive dental work can?t fix. The younger ladies still like me because I?m distinguished and mature, like a fine wine or this vintage leather jacket.  That, and the fact that I have a generous life insurance policy and own a yacht.

Transfusion of tiger blood

Why shouldn?t I enjoy the fruits of three decades of investment banking? I spent most of my thirties working seventy hour weeks, but I hardly ever got to party because I had to go home to the family at least half the time.  These days I get to enjoy all my down time, either chillaxing or spending the money I?ve worked hard for – well, at least the portion of it that isn?t going to my ex-wife or her blood-sucking lawyers.  I don?t regret a thing, and if I could speak to my younger self I?d tell him to look forward to the kind of late youth enjoyed by other hip dudes like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Charlie Sheen and Bill Clinton. Bill Clinton, I salute you – now there?s a man who knows a thing or two about what to tell people when you?re caught getting a blowjob at work.

I like to say ?carpe diem? –  that?s latin for ?party hard, dudes? and that?s what I?d tell my immature, less balding self if I somehow could travel back to my twenties without the assistance of a cocktail of Botox and Viagra.  It?s what I tell the young blokes at work, because even if they?re too embarrassed to admit it I can tell they look up to me – a guy that proves you can still be cool when you?re past forty, like Jeremy Clarkson or Simon Cowell.  In fact, I?d probably be having this kind of conversation with my own son if we were still on speaking terms. Still, I?m sure he?ll come round, because that maintenance agreement runs out when he reaches 18, and Dad?s the one who has tickets to see Coldplay and a jacuzzi full of half-naked girls.  Despite what his mother says, I?m not sad or lonely at all, as he?d be well aware if he?d accepted my friend request on Facebook.

Keep it real, dudes – don?t do anything I wouldn?t do. Stamps out


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