It’s an age thing

It’s an age thing

I have never dwelt much on how old I am. Lucky really. My sister insists we’re still both ‘In the early foothills of middle age’, which is completely true, of course… except we’d have to live till we were 140 if it was. They say we’re all living longer, but that maybe stretching it a bit.

Tee martoonis

I’ll admit it was a tad shocking to reach the momentous three score years and ten. Not because I feel my age. I think I’m pretty spry and energetic, engaged in life. And I don’t mean, ‘For my age’, to use that ghastly phrase. I mean I can still do most of the things I’ve always done. Ok, I can’t sit on my haunches anymore – it’s a knee thing – which is so bloody irritating when you want to bend down to get something on a low shelf or cupboard. Necking the third martini is definitely a mistake these days. And, like Dracula, I avoid bright sunlight – although the train which prevents the facial Tube map probably left the station aeons ago. But hey ho, I can live with all this. The shock came from knowing that other people might now consider me to be OLD.

Sunday papers

And recently things have taken a proper turn for the worse. I’m not alone in this, I do realize, and many other people’s problems are way worse than mine. I would like to be allowed a quick grouse, nonetheless. Since the end of March, based purely on the year I was born, me and my contemporaries have been pigeon-holed in a special category. At Risk. Which I’m ok with, given the circumstances. But we’ve also been told that, in a fight for a ventilator, we might be the losers. And to cap it all, I open the paper on Sunday morning – always a mistake these days – and there’s something that suggests I might be locked down for a further 18 months!

The end result is, I’m not feeling like me anymore. I’m just my date of birth. It’s a bit of a blow to my confidence, to be honest. I feel like a banner is now flying above my head which says, ‘This here is definitely an old person’. But I’m not going down lightly in this numbers game. I’m polishing myself up, walking faster and ordering up some eyebrow dye, eating my greens and yes, drinking that third martini. Cheers to you all!

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