Time is ticking for old man Tame.
Yes, yes, go ahead and scoff. Your taunts fall on fast-deafening ears and even if you're sympathetic, it shan't be long before my only comfort is the discounted ferry pass I get with my Gold Card.
The age may seem the luxury of youth to some but I have one month until I turn 28. Four short weeks until I leave 27 on the slip-'n'-slide-but-mainly-slip to seniority. Four short weeks to debut for the All Blacks, publish a universally acclaimed mathematics paper and pen a generation-defining album.
I'm not saying life ends at 28. My grandma has 60 years on my looming landmark and has just returned from an intrepid trip to Zanzibar and Dar es Salaam. She's off to Iran this year.
But perhaps unlike any other milestone that I've gaily skipped by, the various rules of 27 are wearing me down. My back seizes, I've a bung shoulder and my knee sometimes creaks like a farm gate with a dodgy hinge.