Tag: A revisit

Getting On

Being the second part of my original ‘vision’ for this blog…

I stand at the portal that will allow me entry into a new age of discovery.  The doormen of Nirvana have found me to be on the list and have grudgingly agreed to let me in.  There are many benefits to belonging to the club that I will shortly join: I can take tea and biscuits with my fellow sexagenarians in the designated café; I can board the bus to Rhyl with a half-empty suitcase and a clear conscience; Lord knows! I may eligible for a discount on a stair-lift or a sit-in bath.  I have reached the age when I understand that I should always smile sweetly at the dentist, because to gnash my teeth at his suggestion that I need several long-haul holidays-worth of dental treatment is merely putting money in his already bulging pockets.  I have attained the maturity that allows me to comprehend that the true joy of an April day by the east coast seaside cocooned within fourteen layers of thermal clothing to protect against the unseasonal scything on-shore breeze and draped in a slightly too small cagoule that herds the interminable arctic drizzle into the large drips that run around the rim of the hood before depositing themselves into the ever-swelling puddle on my crotch, whilst I push fish and chips around the paper as they congeal in front of my eyes, is the knowledge that there is no point in doing it, other than knowing that I don’t have to do it – but, shit, while I can, I will.  I have begun to appreciate the myriad joys of getting older.  A whole new world of revelation has opened up before me.  I have entered, in short, a second phase of enlightenment and realisation.

I have opened my mind to learning, although, truth be told, most of what I have learned is how little I know.  My discoveries, such as they are, are modest – they are not of Newtonian proportions.  What I have not discovered would generate a ‘to do’ list that could keep Isaac and his apple occupied for a very long time.  I have not discovered, for instance, what makes me (or more appositely, they being on the bottom, Australians) stick to this globe of ours.  I tend to adhere to the Velcro Theory.  In fact, I find myself irresistibly drawn towards the flat earth theory, simply because I do not understand why, wherever I go in the world, I am always the right way up.  Hold up a football and put something on the bottom of it; what happens?  Yup.  If the world is actually a sphere, what prevents the Australians falling off?  Forget gravity.  Gravity is everywhere.  It can’t even hold my glass on the table after six Martinis.  And also, if the world is a globe, how come all the water doesn’t flow to the bottom?  Never thought that through did you Pythagoras?

Mind you, I must admit that physics was never one of my strengths.  I can still recall the look on the face of my teacher when he read my test paper aloud to the class, with special emphasis on the question ‘What is resistance’, to which I had answered ‘Futile’.  I thought I was being endearingly amusing.  He thought I was being an arse.  Guess who was correct?  I would never discover a new continent, even if one were to exist, because that would almost certainly involve sailing off into the unknown and, quite frankly, I have enough trouble sailing off into the known – and only then when I have double-checked the catering arrangements.  And as for finding a new planet, I can barely see the television in these contact lenses, let alone an infinitesimal blob at the far end of the universe.  No, the things that I have learned are of a much more personal nature.  I do not know if they will make a difference to the lives of others.  I do not know if they were at any time unknown to others.  What I am beginning to know, I think, is what everybody else has known all along.

I have discovered that stairs are arranged singly for a reason; there is nothing to be gained by ascending them two at a time.  I know that escalators move so that you do not have to.  I have learned that there are only two types of shoe; those that fit and those that look good: no single pair of shoes is ever able to meet both criteria. I have learned that rows of buttons are always to be fastened from the bottom in order to avoid having one left over at the end.  I have learned that hats are for other people.

I have begun to understand that there is no point whatsoever in attempting to take a photograph with my mobile phone.  Nobody is even faintly interested in a close-up of my nasal hair, nor do the staff of The Raj Palace want another silent call from me.  I have grown to realise that I have lost the innate ability I once had to know instantly whether an acquaintance was older or younger than I.  Everyone of my age looks so very old.  I have begun to understand that no-one younger than me actually sees me as younger than I am.  That the way I viewed people of my age when I was my daughter’s age is exactly the way that people of my daughter’s age now view me – eccentric; mildly amusing in a ‘let’s just humour him’ kind of way, but definitely to be kept at arm’s length as the risk of slight urine/saliva contamination is ever-present and increasing.  I have discovered that the only thing more annoying than a younger man in an extremely expensive car is an older man in an extremely expensive car.  I have begun to realise that nobody ever gained anything from arguing (except, for some, a lucrative career).  Stealth is the answer.  Age gives one the time to wait and the insight to appreciate that there is absolutely no finer moment than the acutely timed ‘I warned you that would happen, but you never listen do you?  Oh no.  You always know best…’

I have also begun to understand that advancing age is not to be feared, it is to be embraced.  Embraced for its ability to allow me clearer vision than sight.  Embraced for its ability to grant me the realisation that what is right for me, may not be right for anybody else, but quite frankly, that I care even less than they do.  Embraced for the realisation that my appreciation of the world around me is linked, incrementally, with the paucity of time that I have left to enjoy it.  Embraced because I have no choice.  Embraced because it makes me happy.

First published 16 November 2018

Mission Statement

Spring being the current plat du jours I thought that I would take this opportunity to briefly take a look back before lurching uncertainly further on into the burgeoning joy of what lies ahead and so, if you will bear with me, on today and Friday I intend to republish the two posts with I which originally launched this whole farrago four-and-a-bit years ago.  I’ve resisted the urge to ‘update’ them, so it’s an opportunity to see just exactlyhow much times have changed and how much they’ve stayed the same.  To date, these two posts have always been my reference points for what this whole thing is about, so do I need to consider whether I should continue to plod along the self-same path as I set myself way back then, or should I shelf all the soul-searching and just do it anyway?  I am not certain how many of you were with me when I launched: I think for most of you it will be your first chance to read these two pieces.  For the rest of you, I can only apologise… Again.

I feel that I should begin my first blog with an explanation of what it is exactly that I intend to do over the next however long I am given: it might give you an idea of whether you are going to bother with it, and it might help to remind me what it was I had started when I return to it after pouring a glass of red and half-eating a jam and peanut butter sandwich.  My intention is to observe life through the eyes of an older person – I have no choice in this, I am one – and to lay what I have seen before you in such a manner that it might take your mind off the pre-paid funeral plan for a few minutes (unless, of course, you really want that free Parker pen).  I do not intend it to be about getting old, but merely the product of a mind and body that is itself slipping inexorably downhill, gathering both speed and mass, clinging on to all the dignity it can muster whilst understanding that the inevitable pratfall into the dog-shit of life lays merely inches away.  I do not intend to focus solely on the experience of being an older male, but being one, it might just go that way.  Just think of it as a thousand words(ish) a week window into the soul.  Actually, probably less a window into my soul and more a knot-hole into my psyche.  I am aware that I cannot properly see life from the perspective of someone I am not.  I try, believe me, I try, but almost inevitably just as soon as I think I have got this empathy thing licked, I unwittingly put my foot in it up to my ears and, having apologised for all I am worth, write myself a note to remind me not to make that mistake again… and then lose it…

There will be, I am sure, some nostalgic twaddle; some howling at the moon; some ‘how shit things used to be’; some ‘how shit things are now’; some ‘why can’t I remember what it is I wanted to say when I started this…?’  It is my hope that people of my age may be able to wring some scintilla of truth or recognition from it, whilst those younger people amongst you may regard it as some sort of instructional tract; providing nuggets of information that you may recall at apposite times when interacting with we vintage souls (and possibly mopping up after us).

We are all getting older.  Life is a one way street and we are all heading into the same cul-de-sac.  The people around you can erect speed bumps and you can apply the handbrake all you like, but in the end you’ll realise that the only sensible thing you can do is to floor the clutch and enjoy the scenery.  And don’t think that science is going to save you.  I’m certainly not going to argue with Einstein, if he says time-travel is possible, then I’m sure it must be… but I’ve seen the films: the Captains Kirk and Picard discovered, as did Marty McFly, that even when you travel back in time, you yourself remain the same age; still getting older.  Wherever you sit on the space/time continuum, you plod on, just the same.  Wherever you go, you become older just getting there.  So, what could be the point of going back in time if everything around you got younger whilst you continued to plough on relentlessly through your allotted span?  Very little – unless, of course you’ve got an unopened pack of smoked salmon that has gone beyond its sell-by date or your egg yolk isn’t runny enough…

We all claim that we don’t feel any different to how we felt twenty, thirty, forty years ago when, in fact, we are all that little bit weaker, slower and less able; incapable of stretching without farting.  Getting Older is not just about what you see, what you hear and feel, but what you do and how you do it.  Do you ever wonder how Pooh and Eeyore cope with the associated problems of sagging kapok, slackened stitching and Christopher Robin’s animalistic grandchildren; how Sherlock Holmes copes with the diminution of a giant intellect; how James Bond copes with stress incontinence?  I’ll look into it.

And age is not all about loss.  Age also brings us gifts: the self-knowledge that we regularly mistake for wisdom.  The ability to think ‘Actually, that is not what I would do, but, let’s be honest, what does it matter.’  The knowledge that you are not going to be hanged for wearing non-matching socks and that no-one will notice if you’re wearing your pants back to front may be liberating.  I, myself, have heard the siren call of primary colour trousers and Velcro shoes, and like Odysseus, I am desperately clinging to the mast of sanity, attempting to resist them.  To be honest, once you’ve passed 50, nobody takes a great deal of notice what you’re wearing.  Wear what you have always worn and they’ll smile sweetly and enquire whether you have actually changed that cardi at all this year.  Wear something different and they’ll think you’ve had a stroke.  It is better to continually keep checking that you’ve remembered to zip up your fly than to wait for someone to tell you that you haven’t.  Again… 

Age will gift you an insatiable thirst for knowledge.  All knowledge.  A desire to learn all of the things you did not learn while you were capable of learning them.  Infinite curiosity will keep you alive and vital and the desire to experience will drive you crazy.  If you are physically capable of doing it, then do it.  You may hate it, but at least you’ve tried it and you’ll never have to do it again – like eating oysters and drinking Saké, you’ll know better next time.

The accumulation of new hobbies becomes a hobby in itself.  Never tried it?  Give it a go.  Immerse yourself; soak it up until you’re semi-proficient; pack it up; find something new.  Don’t be put off by those who might say ‘You can’t do that’.  They might be right, but bugger them frankly, give it a go anyway.  If it doesn’t work, you can laugh about it over a super-strength gin and tonic and spit an olive stone at the back of their neck when they’re not looking. 

Anyway, that’s what I’m going to do.  Join me.  If I cannot persuade you to laugh in the face of danger then at least I might encourage you to snigger in the ear’ole of adversity.

First published 15 November 2018