‘One of the most ridiculous things I’ve seen written is that 60 is the new 40’
SINCE my deletion I’ve become increasingly aware of the plethora of rubbish that gets written about ageing and the enticement that goes with it. Quite clearly the silver pound is up for grabs. Apparently my life is now my oyster, which is an odd expression given how foul they taste. I am now rich enough, it seems, to go cruising on the SS Butlins at Sea, during which I will attempt not to assault the bloody entertainments officer. I can enjoy activity weekend breaks at special rates in hotels where I can learn to make pottery, play bowls, paint watercolours, design mosaics, and all this creative industry will also help ward off the early onset of Alzheimer’s, though some might say that particular horse has already bolted.
Or how about a Saga coach tour to Blackpool where I can take in a show and play bingo to my heart’s content? And, as always, one of the major selling points for these holidays and breaks is this gem of an incentive, the opportunity to meet new friends with whom you sit round a table positioned near a toilet enjoying exotic meals designed to be denture friendly, clinking wine glasses and laughing gaily, all of which is, ironically enough, the flaw in the whole sales pitch. Who in their right mind would want to go on a holiday where one of the highlights is mixing with other decrepit pensioners? I get enough of that at RNLI quiz nights in Thurso thank you very much. (You wouldn’t believe some of the answers they come up with! It’s just as well I’m there.) And anyway, if I want to fight off Alzheimer’s, why would I spend a holiday in the company of those most likely to have it?
Neither are insurance companies above waving tempting free gifts in front of us poor old things. They worry we might "not be around", or "move on", or "pass over" without making financial arrangements for those "loved ones left behind". They can’t bring themselves to say "die", after all you don’t want death associated with a product you’re trying to sell someone. And what are these free gifts to tempt you to buy an insurance policy? Well, one offers you a home will kit, which you’ll agree is pretty impressive, and another offers a free Parker pen. Yes, you read that right, a free Parker pen! So, if you buy a policy from them both, then you can fill in your free will kit with your free Parker pen. Who could resist that? In the circumstances it seems somewhat inappropriate to describe that as killing two birds with one stone. Honestly, what do they take us for?
ONE of the more ridiculous things I’ve seen written is that 60 is the new 40. I suspect whoever wrote that has not been both of those ages. I can categorically state this is nonsense. 60 is 60, 40 is 40 and never the twain shall meet. I should know because I’ve been them both. When I was 40 I was fitter, stronger, taller (I think) and my hair was not the platinum blonde it is now. It was thicker too and I had yet to experience the pitter patter slap of rain drops on my scalp. While I might still have pretty much the same number of teeth as I had then, fewer of them now are actually my own.
In those halcyon days I had yet to enjoy the experience of looking in the mirror first thing in the morning and seeing my father looking back at me. My forehead wasn’t furrowed like a freshly ploughed field, I only had one chin and hair still grew where it was meant to. By that I mean not out of my nostrils and ear holes. I could pinch the skin on the back of my hand and watch it go back to normal almost immediately, not form a ridge that takes several hours to disappear.
I could climb stairs without accompanying gasps of "oh, ah" and arrive at the top without struggling for breath. I was able to wear a jumper for more than one afternoon before spilling food down the front of it. I could go on, but it’ll only depress me. Dress it up any way you like, but getting older doesn’t have that much going for it. Nor does age necessarily bestow wisdom upon the bearer of the gathering years. Think of some of your friends or your aged relatives before you comment on that!
There’s a morbid fascination watching your body change (I prefer to say change rather than deteriorate, it’s less emotionally damaging) and frankly there isn’t much you can do about it other than eat your five a day, drink lots of water, walk a wee bit, take the pills, and go to bed early hoping for the best. While it’s true people are living longer, it seems to me there is a fine distinction to be drawn between living longer and being kept alive longer. But there are still some things we can do, and it’s about seemly behaviour.
There’s nothing worse than older people not acting their age, like dressing inappropriately (mutton as lamb springs to mind), "getting down with the kids" (they will always see through you) and imagining young people have any interest in witty, wise or educational anecdotes you might want to share with them. I fell into that trap a while ago in a local newsagent’s when I spotted on the counter an Evening Times "Wee Red Book". (Normal people will know what that is.)
I was shocked at its price of £3.50. Leaning forward towards the young lad behind the counter I heard myself say "£3.50? I remember when that was sixpence." Paying no attention to the far-off voice somewhere in my head shouting "Shut up!" I carried on, encouraged by his blank look which I mistook for one of interest and followed up with, in an almost conspiratorial tone: "That’s two and a half pence in new money, you know!"
New money? What was I saying? New money? We’ve had decimal currency for 43 years now, all of his lifetime and probably of his parents too and here I am speaking bollocks about something called new money. His blank look seemed to change to one of puzzlement and no wonder. What was this old fart talking about? So, I beat a hasty retreat, determined in future to pay more attention to the far-off voice.
Some things will be genuine accidents though, like the time I went to the cinema in Thurso and when the instruction came to put on my 3D glasses, I put on my sunglasses instead.
I’m sure that’s happened to other people but it was 20 minutes before I noticed. The only saving grace might have been the people sat either side of me thought I was a cool dude in Ray Ban 3Ds.
Anyway, I think I’ll just go gentle with the flow rather than as Dylan Thomas wrote, "…rage, rage against the dying of the light". I don’t think I can be bothered.