Author Archive

I was positively misty-eyed when I volunteered to help at the local hospice.  I imagined myself sitting by a patient’s bed, perhaps untying the faded ribbon around some treasured love-letters and reading them to my attentive listener who would grasp my hand in silent, grateful thanks… But no, it wasn’t like that at all.  They wanted me to work on the switchboard.  As I had no previous experience they trained me for a whole day (I thought I did quite well, but the lady training me had become rather ashen-faced and monosyllabic by 3.30 in the afternoon.) They told me they would be in contact when they needed me.  Well, I didn’t exactly cancel all my other arrangements in anticipation, but I did rather expect to be called in a few weeks rather than after four months which is what happened.  Not surprisingly I had forgotten most of my training and spent  the day cutting people off or putting them through to the wrong extension.

I recently visited a friend of mine who is always stylishly dressed.  And she did look good until I noticed her feet … what was she wearing?  Great flat hideous shoes – I could hardly keep my eyes off them – like some unsightly mole that I shouldn’t be staring at.   Of course I said nothing because I am Mrs Tactful but I longed to know if she suffered from some dire foot complaint that forced her to wear old lady shoes.  Not at all, because when I cleverly brought the conversation around to the subject she told me that she always put comfort first now and hardly ever wore high heels or fashionable shoes.  Reader be warned: unless you want to look like a pensioner, never put comfort ahead of looks, unless you really are going on that Marathon in aid of the Turtle Santuary that you rashly signed up for.

I started colouring my hair years ago when the first few grey hairs appeared.  But a month or so ago I decided to stop: I wanted to see if grey hair suited me.  Now I’ve got over two inches of grey roots and with my pale face I have acquired a haunted look that is frightening young children…  When I discussed my dilemma with a friend she told me about someone who had tried the same experiment: “Everyone thought she’d let herself go and was having a nervous breakdown” she said helpfully.  That is not an image I want to promote, so I’ve decided to go back to colouring my hair and at least now I can have a nervous breakdown if I want to and my hair won’t give me away.

As a woman I’m really envious that men age so well:  it doesn’t matter if they have a few craggy lines or put on weight, they just look more masculine but in a nice cuddly way.  But craggy lines and extra weight look less appealing on women who are supposed to look pretty, not masculine… and you don’t feel pretty if you have saggy skin and your neck looks as though it belongs to a tortoise. It’s also hard to feel attractive if it looks as though you are hiding six bags of sugar under your jumper and two more in those dreadful jogging pants you insist on wearing.  The answer to this problem is not what you want to hear: as women get older they need to put more effort into how they look – well made-up, good hair style, fashionably dressed, (ditch those jogging pants) healthy diet, sensible fitness regime (I’ve gone off the idea already, haven’t you?)  While men don’t need to do anything special and everyone thinks they look fine.

I often forget stuff and I suspect that even when I was in my twenties I was equally forgetful.  The trouble is that as soon as we get to our late fifties onwards forgetfulness starts to become hugely significant.  Basically we’re all scared witless that we’re developing Alzheimer’s disease just because we can’t remember the name of the actress who played Debra Winger’s mother in ‘Terms of Endearment’.  Stop panicking: forgetfulness is mostly harmless and nothing more sinister.  Besides, forgetfulness can be good… what was that you were worrying about last Thursday afternoon when you were gently picking greenfly off your roses? You can’t remember, can you?