Tag Archives: getting old

Of Keys and Cans and Walking Sticks and Cabbages and Kings

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Fishermen on the beach at Huttoft

This morning I thought of a good title for today’s post. In the afternoon, I thought of an even better one. Of course, by the time I thought about writing, both of them had faded away.

It has been a day when I have had to face up to my age. I hadn’t realised I was going to be doing that in my 60s, it seemed more like an activity for my 70s and 80s. It just goes to show how much I didn’t realise about my future.

Looking back, it started yesterday. Julia remarked that I looked down, and I asked her what I had to be happy about. Then something else happened. I can remember that something else happened, I just can’t remember what it was. it may come back to me.

Fishing in the Trent

Then today I had a knock on the door. It was one of the neighbours telling me someone had run into my car and knocked the door mirror  off. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded – it’s the shroud and repeater that have been knocked off. The rest of it is still OK. I know this because it’s exactly the same damage that was done when a bus clipped me in traffic. It comes under the value of the Policy Excess for the insurance and, last time, cost £90. It will be more this time, I’m sure.

Fortunately, they had stopped and left details with the neighbour and, as they only live down the street I was able to walk down and agree what was going to happen.

\then I walked back. Whilst doing so, I met the man who lives on the corner. He was out with his walker. It is one of those contraptions with a frame, four wheels, a seat and brakes. Difficult to describe, but you have probably seen them around. He used to have sticks.  Time, as we agreed, has not been kind to us.

Fishing opposite the County Council offices

When I got home I found the mortice lock was jammed and I couldn’t unlock it. I tried all sorts of things, pushing and pulling the door, turning the key both ways – nothing worked. So I ran through a list fo options in my head.

Suddenly the clouds parted, a sunbeam shone forth and I had an idea. (the aforementioned clouds and sunbeams are metaphorical, by the way, there was no actual divine intervention). When I had left I had been in a hurry. So I unlocked the Yale, and the door opened. The reason I couldn’t unlock the mortice lock was because it was not locked. Another one for the growing list of senior moments.

I just stopped to put the evening meal in the oven. Sausages, in case you were wondering – we’re having an unimaginative, low quality cooking regime cookery regime at the moment – I’m just not enthused by the idea of cooking.

Haddock Special at the Fishpan, Scarborough

While I was doing that, my brain was clearly catching up. The “something else” that happened was making Julia’s sandwiches. I decided on tuna mayonnaise, which includes, black pepper, chopped green tops of spring onions (scallions) and lemon juice. Unfortunately I’d dropped a stack of tuna tins a few weeks ago (I buy them in the wrapped columns of four) and the weight of the falling stack had bent the top tin. The can opener won’t work on bent rims. It’s a poor opener, but it has outlasted all the supposedly better ones, which seem to fall apart. So I used a knife. But my grip is not what it used to be and the can resisted. So I employed a screwdriver. Eventually, in a process which owed nothing to common sense, I managed to get half the top folded back and spooned the tuna out.

It is very depressing when a tin can appears to be more intelligent, and stronger, than I am. Is it any wonder I am depressed?

Then I remembered the good title for the post. It wasn’t that good second time round. I still can’t remember the better one. I’m going to try to think of another one.

Ah, I have an idea.

Tin Kingfisher

Day 218

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We had the first plums from the tree in the garden today. They are very good, but the crop is not going to be a big one this year.

We also had a Small White and several Large ones in the front garden today, so things are looking up for butterflies. I’m thinking about planting dwarf sunflowers in pots for next year. They will look cheerful and provide bird food. I just looked them up and they are a foodplant of the Painted Lady caterpillars.

We just had a letter from the people who supply our power infrastructure (who are different from the people who supply the electricity). I only found that out last year. They are collecting information on people who need extra help in case of power cuts or other problems. We qualify because i am near pension age, have mobility problems, chronic illness and will have medication in the fridge (the new injectable stuff has to be kept in the fridge).

This is a new steepening of the downward slope that leads to old age and damnation. It’s OK now, but ten years from now they will be using this list as a starting point for euthanasia. It stands to reason that if they can’t cut taxes the government will have to cut overheads. You don’t need to be an economist to work that one out. If you aren’t working you won’t be seen as necessary.

I used Julia’s Low carb cook book as inspiration for a large salad tonight. I didn’t need it for a salad recipe, just to persuade me that salad is a food. I am still not convinced . . .

Watching Olympics and Cheering for Australia

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I’ve just been watching the Beach Volleyball at the Olympics. You can tell I’m getting old, because I was actually watching it for the sporting contest rather than the the women in swimwear. It was the Women’s Final between Australia and the USA and it really messed with my head.

Athletes may talk about the pressure of competition, but they have, in most countries, an extensive support system and they have been preparing for the Olympics for four (or five) years. The UK has Lottery Funding, the USA has a college system which pumps out an endless supply of athletes and the Russian Olympic Committee has the benefit of a state-supported doping system (remember that even if they are clean now, most of them are still using the advantages gained from years of doping before they were caught). But what does the average sports viewer get?

I was completely unprepared for the Olympics, following so close on the heels of the football. I hadn’t had time to get up to speed with all the stories, hadn’t had time to plan my snacking regime, and was completely unprepared mentally. When the USA and Australia stepped out on to the court, I was, to say the least, conflicted.

For much of my life the Olympics was just a continuation of the Cold War by another means, as the Eastern Bloc athletes, who all seemed to be in the army, went about the business of winning gold medals in a joyless and efficient manner. At this time, the USA stood firm against Communism on the sports field. So, I still have a part of my heart that cheers for the USA.

However, there are limits, and one of those is that I am incapable of supporting the USA against members of the Commonwealth. Although we all have shared history, the USA decided to opt out in 1776 and the Australians stuck with us. It was with mixed emotions that I found myself shouting for Australia. The problem was that we are very close in medals on the medal table, and one more gold would be enough for Australia to overtake us (at time of writing).

I had much the same problem with the women’s hockey bronze medal match this morning – I wanted the Indians to win their first ever Olympic hockey medal  (their men having already taken their first medal in 41 years) but I also wanted the England women to win. It was a great match, where the lead swapped several times and it was a shame that anyone had to lose.

Which gets us back to the Australia versus USA problem. Fate stepped in and the USA won. This was disappointing. Was it as disappointing as Australia overtaking us in the medal table? I’ll let you answer that one for yourselves.

Just for interest (I’m not going to step into any contentious areas if I can help it) look at this. It seems that while the German gymnasts are actively working against the trend to sexualise women’s sporting outfits, the beach volleyball teams already have a choice of attire and generally opt for the swimwear.

A Cup of Tea and the Decline of Modern Morals

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Today I discovered another downside to old age , when I was outwitted by the wrappers on a couple of pasties. In an ideal world I would, of course, be making my own pasties, but as I have no intention of spending an hour doing something that five minutes should accomplish, I bought two pasties last week (they were on offer) and stuck them in the fridge. Tonight I got them out and just spent ten minutes wrestling with them.

It seems that I no longer have the dexterity to open a packet and extract a pasty. The packet kept resealing itself and the pasty seemed to swell so that it wedged itself in the opening. Instead of throwing them in with the roasted veg to finish the preparation of I ended up in the middle of something that felt like I was  Tarzan wresting a crocodile. What should have been a simple case of lazy cookery became a voyage into self-discovery and a realisation of my own mortality.

The day started badly when someone drove into Lidl’s car park at high speed, trailing loud music, and parked across two disabled spaces. He didn’t seem disabled. He was clearly of low moral character, but that isn’t the same as a disability. He went on to crowd me at the bakery counter (which just made me move slower) and to throw fruit and veg around as he searched to the back of the shelves to find the fresher produce.

If he’d been in his twenties, or in an expensive car you’d have said he was one of those tycoon types who was always in a hurry to get ahead in life. As he was in his late 30s and driving a shabby Vauxhall, I feel he was probably just a jerk. He would, I’m sure, know all his rights if you engaged his poor lonely brain cells in conversation, but have no concept of obligations.

In an ideal world a vengeful God would have pointed a finger from the clouds and this man would have been left as a bubbling grease spot on the floor near the fresh fruit counter. He would have been a slip hazard, but no more than that. This, I feel, is where the Old Testament could teach us a thing or two.

I then went home, clutching various baked goods and helped  a neighbour with a sticking door latch. This developed into a clandestine cup of tea (as we should not be meeting indoors). I think some socially distanced help with the door was in order, but drinking the tea was a sign of my moral decline. I obviously caught this from the bloke in Lidl.

From there to struggling with the pasty packaging just shows how steep the slippery slope is…

I was looking for photos when I found this picture. You don’t often find a butterfly on a crocus because butterflies are rare in crocus season. I thought I’d use it to remind myself that hope is just around the corner.

Time to Plant a Tree

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Sunday tea was a simple affair – roasted vegetables, Cornish pasties, Yorkshire puddings and gravy. The gravy was made from granules.The puddings and pasties were bought in. All I needed to do was cut up some vegetables.

The vegetables were leeks, brussels, sweet potato, carrot and parsnip. With a banana at breakfast, beans on toast for lunch and a pear in the evening that gives me eight portions of fruit and veg today. It might not have been exciting, but it was healthy.

It sounds simple, but as I mentioned before, it’s not quite so simple with arthritis. Even cutting vegetables becomes tricky when you have no grip. I will have to examine ways of coping with this new problem. I’ve already been buying pre-cut vegetables for various things, but that won’t work for roasted vegetables as they don’t come cut into the right size.

It was, to be honest, a bit of a shock, but worse things happen. It doesn’t seem as bad now as it did a few hours ago.

I’m just watching The Real Marigold Hotel – Henry Blofeld (yes, his father went to Eton with Ian Fleming so it is possible that he shares his name with the famous Bond villain) and Paul Chuckle are exploring the facilities of an Indian retirement community. It includes flats with rounded edges where walls meet (so that falling geriatrics don’t injure themselves so badly) and a chauffeur driven golf buggy service. It is a worry that I’m seriously starting to think about things like this. It is time to start making adjustments.

This is a worrying thought, as it’s an admission that I’m getting old. I’m also thinking that it’s time to begin looking for a bungalow.

I just looked up career development, as I still have five years before I can officially retire and, despite everything, I live in hope of something good happening. I might even have another ten or fifteen years to work if I find a job that involves sitting.

I was surprised to find this question when Googling – Is it too late to start a career at 25? Too late at 25? Someone answered by saying you could still start a new career at 75. That was good to hear, though I’m not sure I really believe it. However, the link also contained this quote, which I knew, but had forgotten. I seem to forget more things these days.

“The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.”

Figs at Wilford Mencap Garden

Figs at Wilford Mencap Garden