It was in the news yesterday and one feeling was So What? Mick and his gang have now spent the major part of their career, thirty years and more, having the age question hanging over them like some perpetual curse. And they carry on playing and people turn up to see them in their thousands and the press asks the same old question each time a new world tour begins: Could this be the last?
Then I heard that five minute slot on Radio 4 about 1968 which mentioned that on the corresponding day then he was celebrating being 25. He would be, of course. Do the maths, as they say. But it still gave me a creepy feeling. Only a year before, the Beatles had sung When I’m 64. And now they are.
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