I was buying candles in a shop and the young man serving me said, “Why so many candles?” “I like to have them in stock, you never know when you’ll need them,” I replied. “I like the cut of your jib,” he said. “Oh,” I said delighted, “my children say that no one says that any more.” He said, not at all understanding my point, “I know, I found a list of phrases only old people use and I’m trying to bring them back into use.” Great, thanks.
I was out for dinner last night with two friends from college and I was telling them about this and they confirmed that nobody uses “cut of his jib” anymore. I asked whether anyone ever said “You’d drive a horse from his oats” anymore. One of them hadn’t even heard the expression and the other said she hadn’t heard it in years. I’m trying to bring it back here.
And we talked about the people we know who are retiring or retired and how they are finding it; many people are going back to college it seems; some are setting themselves up as consultants and some are living it up on their loot. I told them about my friend the banker who was forced to go to a pre-retirement seminar. The organisers said that everyone was over-provisioned for retirement (Mr. Waffle counsels that the organisers were speaking to a room full of bankers) as people see the bit at the start when everyone is travelling and so on (very expensive) and the bit at the end where people are getting care or in nursing homes or in and out of hospital (also very expensive) but tend to overlook the middle bit where people are just pottering around, not travelling extensively but not sick either and this is apparently the longest bit and cheap. They called it go-go, slow-go and no-go. The conference organisers also offered the sage advice that 60 is the new 50; 70 is the new 60; but 80 still 80. We appear to have reached a stage where we all found this interesting.
And the people we know who have not retired are at the top of their professions. I mean, one of them told me that her friend from school is now the principal in her old school. Every week brings more shocks of this nature as my generation is basically in charge of everything now (unless retired obvs). A friend from Brussels nearly fell off his chair when an ex of a mutual friend of ours (from 30 years ago now, everyone has moved on) turned up to give a keynote at a very important event as she herself is now a very important person. He recovered sufficiently to text me the news.
I am in the process of changing dentist. A long and fraught operation that I don’t want to speak of. The new dentist wanted to x-ray my teeth; they love an x-ray. In my experience, if you are a woman regardless of age (until now, she said darkly), the dentist will ask whether you are pregnant before giving you an x-ray. Did the new dentist ask? He did not. Furthermore, on inspecting the x-rays he said my teeth showed lots of evidence of “a life well-lived”. Not the compliment it might be on, say, your deathbed. I see shoals ahead on the tooth front.
I was chatting to my boss at work (I love her, so gratifying) about my extensive holiday plans (more anon) and she said, “Is your husband able to take that much time off work as well or is he retired?” My love dimmed a little. No, he’s not retired, how could youthful me have a husband who’s retired?
I have an app (BeReal) that prompts me to take a photo every day with the front camera and the back camera. I like it but it comes with messaging that I find dispiriting. On being presented with a photo of me looking, to my own eyes, perfectly normal, it will say comfortingly, “It’s ok, not to be ok.” Clearly, everyone else on the platform is so perky that my elderly visage causes the app serious alarm. Meta: it just pinged me now and I took a photo of this. It looked at my face and said anxiously, “How ya feelin’?”
Earlier today myself and middle child went swimming and we saw a seal. Mild thrill.
There he is.
And we had ice cream.
“What has this to do with today’s theme?” you ask. Well, the tide was very low and whereas normally in the spot where we swim you can launch yourself from the steps into the water, today you had to pick your way across rocks with water at ankle height. A bit uncomfortable but fine, or so I thought until a woman (and here’s the kicker) who looked about my own age came surging up to me and insistently offered her hand to me to help me get in. I refused but in the end I yielded and, very annoyingly, it was helpful.
And just this week I got a congratulatory message from the Health service telling me I am now eligible for the free bowel screening programme. Can’t wait.
Noticing any intimations of mortality yourself?
