Van Gogh and me.

The feu duty for the use and enjoyment of the bodies we are issued seems to fall due after seventy years of occupancy, and includes progressive involuntary surrender of functions previously taken for granted, such as being able to lift one’s arm above shoulder level.

I am aware of this contract and I am resigned to the repayments.

What I hadn’t noticed in the fine print, however, was the obligatory emotional detumescence.
The loss of the zeniths and nadirs of rage and despair would seem peppercorn rent indeed, but I’m not so sure about the more subtle accompanying pervasive mellowing.
I became aware of this incipient quiescence when I drove past a nice herd of Hereford cattle recently, an event usually accompanied by high levels of arousal (on my part, not usually the Hereford cattle), but now only by a vague sensation of loss and nostalgia.

It’s the same when I see a beautiful woman.

Those days have passed now, and in the past they must remain.
It’s the Flower of Scotland imperative.

Which brings me to cataracts - the punishment by a Calvinistic god for looking at dirty pictures when we were teenagers (which probably explains why cataracts are so common).

But while you're waiting to contribute to your local friendly ophthalmologist's retirement fund, don't get impatient.
Enjoy the view, which includes the starbursts that appear in the night sky night for those fortunate enough to get cloudy lenses.
Or the free static recreation of New Year's Eve on Sydney Harbour every time you look at street lights.

I'm pretty sure that Van Gogh had cataracts, probably from all that time spent lying flat on his back in Vondelpark staring at the sun, pissed out of his brain on absinthe. (His cataracts were actually due to syphilis, but let's be generous.)

You've only got to look at his "Cafe Terrace at night" (1888) - which resides in the Kroeller-Muller museum in Amsterdam* - to see the wonderland in the night sky that old bastards experience before they finally make it to the top of the eye doc's waiting list.

Maybe cataracts are compensation from the gods for the myriad of other physical miseries inflicted upon us as we age.

So, stop whingeing. Enjoy!