No country for middle aged men

Discovering I had MS relatively late in my life is one thing. I was 43. It was late onset of MS. Far worse, far more sinister and altogether disturbing has been a recent development. Late onset of Dolly Parton. I know when it began. Beth had to use '9 to 5' as part of her reception assembly. I downloaded it so she could practise it in the car. Wake up in the morning...I have always hated country. But then i-tunes offered to download the rest of Dolly's hits for £3.49. Bargain. Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Joleeeeene, ...please don't take him, islands in the stream, that is what we are.

What was going on? I was listening to Dolly...no, I was singing along to Dolly in the car. And iyiyiyiyiyi will always lurve yohooooo.... Fortunately it hadn't developed into full blown country. I could still take refuge in Blue Oyster Cult's Don't Fear The Reaper (digital remix). For every 'coat of many colours' there was still a 'Kashmir', for every 'Backwards Barbie' there was still a 'Wish you were here'. I could be strong. I could be anti-country.

And then it went really wrong. Badly wrong. Someone gave me a Jonny Cash album. And before I knew it I had developed full blown country. I tried to buy some Tami-flu but in my confusion I came back with Tami-Wynette. It was frightening. I was short of breath. I started referring to my wife as Lucille. I sent my kids out to work the range. I was offered a trial of Punk but I got randomised to opera. Perhaps middle aged men need country. But I do draw the line at Billy Ray-Cyrus and his daughter.

What d'ya mean he recorded 'Achy Breaky Heart'? Count me in.