It has occurred to me as I have aged, gracefully of course, the simpler things in life have become far more enjoyable.
Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy a good old late-night session with the boys or a bit of Saturday morning Best Of the 70s, 80s and 90s served on full volume as revenge on the kid across the street who had me up till 3am with his incomprehensible head-banging "music", and I struggle to write that.
But these days I'm finding myself inclined to enjoy a quality gin or wine, late nights more often than not end well before the wee small hours and a nice stroll along the beach with Mrs P is preferable to doing husband duty, two paces behind, while she ransacks Briscoes.
So, to further illustrate all that I must tell you, dear reader, of some exciting news I had this week.
I have been selected to accompany the Boomerang Child on her latest pregnancy scan. We all expect everything to be fine but it will be a chance to see the growing little cherub on a television screen, via some technological wizardry, a few weeks before she arrives proper.
Boomerang Child is allowed to take along a support person and I'm it.
To say I am royally chuffed to have been selected for the role would be an understatement.
And I say "royally" because there is a bit of similarity in what happens with the royal family in such occasions.
I am very much "the spare to the heir", so to speak.
Let me explain.
The father-to-be, Builder Boy, is unavailable on the day of the scan. He's been at all the other appointments but, as it happens, this time he can't escape the clutches of the building industry. So he's out.
Ordinarily, Her Royal Highness Mrs P would be next up but she will be otherwise engaged elsewhere within the health system at that time. So she's out.
So then there's me. Basically free as a bird. Just pottering around at home 'till I start my new fulltime job in three weeks. I've been given a list of jobs that need to be done around the property before then.
Previously these jobs were so important I could not swan off to play golf midweek. Now, by royal decree, it seems, Mrs P has deemed them totally insignificant and I am to drop everything and be by the side of our baby, and her baby, in their time of need. So I'm in. The spare to the spare, you might say.
In all honesty I'm quite excited about it.
I gather it's pretty simple. We just look at the screen and go "ooh" and "aah". I've been practising already.
Naturally for such an occasion I need to be prepared.
I've done my research and it says I need to wear loose clothing, be prepared to have a bit of gel squirted on my belly and have a wee beforehand.
The wee I'm sure I can manage. As for the loose clothing I might have to whip out and get a bigger T-shirt from the op shop. Mrs P is still having trouble sorting out our washing powder and it's making my clothes shrink.
Not sure about the gel thing. Seems a bit weird to me. Perhaps it could be for the pregnant person? I'll have another look. Maybe I've read it wrong.
All I know is I'm super excited - as a prospective new grandad should be - and it will prove how wrong the naysayers are when they say there's never anything good on the telly.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to email@example.com (Kevin Page in subject field).