D-Day

And so it is happening. Tomorrow I turn 70. D-Day. Hard to get my head around. It's not until you get there that the full impact hits you. You hear of others reaching 70 and you congratulate them and wish them well. When it's you it's a different story. You know that you're on the last lap. I can't honestly see myself lasting another ten years so I know that sometime soon I will cease to be. And I start wondering how and under what circumstances. And it's funny what comes into your head. I keep thinking that I will never manage to read all my unread books!

Am I being unnecessarily glum? Many people think it's great to have spent such a terrific length of time on the earth. Others feel it's a cause to celebrate -  getting there when so many don't. I think both points of view are valid. But I struggle with any optimism because the sense of time running out is very strong. 

To celebrate I am going up to London with my best friend and her daughter. Hopefully my sister will meet us and we will have a meal deal lunch in a rooftop garden. We have to be back by 5 because my friend is having her 20 year anniversary that evening at the local casino. I was dreadfully hurt when she told me she was having it on the evening of my 70th birthday but she said it was the only night she could get everyone together. I don't know if I am invited or not!! So I have no idea when we return from London whether I will be celebrating alone that evening or whether I'll be toasting her 20 years with her man. I have mixed feelings. Spending the evening in a casino is not how I would choose to remember my 70th birthday but on the other hand do I want to remember it as another evening spent alone? 

I've already had a beautiful bouquet of flowers from one friend who knows I will be out tomorrow. Another friend arranged for me to pick up a book token at my local bookshop.  I did that today as I had to pop in there anyway on another errand. The token was for £70! £10 for each year of my life. I was so touched at such a generous gift. 

I struggle with birthdays anyway. The sense that  I am not worthy or deserving enough to celebrate coupled with an aversion to attention makes it a difficult day. I feel like I am letting people down if I don't try and enter into the spirit of the occasion. The expectation is high and more so given it is a milestone birthday. 

I wasn't alway like this. I used to enjoy my birthday, not the attention, that's never been me, but as a social event. I have fond memories of my 50th and my 60th. I wonder what my 70th memories will be? 

Mortality

 

I guess when you’re young you don’t really think about death so much. There is a sense of invincibility. But as you age it creeps into the narrative more and more. The first time death hit me, (not literally, I hasten to add) was when I lost my maternal grandmother. 

 

I loved her dearly. She and my Mum didn’t always see eye to eye, but I thought she was wonderful. She had been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes and medical knowledge wasn’t as great as it is today, and poorly managed she started to lose her eyesight. I remember when I was preparing to leave home and start my student career, she wanted to buy me something useful. She decided upon a blanket. I wanted a tartan one, but she felt it and rejected it as not being substantial enough. She continued to feel all the blankets until one felt ‘right’. It was an olive-green Witney blanket that I kept on my student bed. I still have it. I remember the store too. It was a Co Op! When the Co Op still had department stores! A very strong memory of the last day I would ever spend with my Gran.

 

That was the day I took my leave of her before I was due to leave for college. She stood in her doorway, and I stood on the doorstep, holding my blanket. Suddenly she pulled me to her, weeping about how much she would miss me. As a gauche 18-year-old I was bewildered by this unfamiliar show of emotion from her. My mum pulled me away quite roughly I thought, and I left my beautiful grandmother weeping on her doorstep. I didn’t know then that I would never see her again. 

 

I wrote to her frequently from my college room. My parents were away on a six-week world tour for my father’s job. So, I knew she was lonely. Bright yellow paper. Big black handwriting that I hoped she could read without help. She wrote me back, letters I still have, telling me I was always her girl and she missed me. Then one day towards the end of my first term at college I received a message to call home. I was unconcerned believing it to be the welcome news that my parents would drive down and pick me up for the Christmas holidays. I phoned my Mum and I’ll never forget her chilling words that Gran died yesterday. “No, Mummy, no!” I remember screaming down the phone. I hadn’t called her ‘Mummy’ in years. The phone was situated a public place in my hall of residence and a fellow student, seeing and hearing my distress took me off to her room and made me a cup of tea. And that was the first time death hit me. Her funeral was the first funeral I ever attended. It was a burial. I cannot remember a thing about it except for standing by the graveside and my uncle saying that the one thing she would have been cross about was missing Christmas. I didn’t understand how he could joke.  

 

Now as I have aged death has become a more regular occurrence. Family, friends, neighbours. I attend funerals almost regularly. And of course, the thought of one’s own mortality starts to become a frequent thought. Out of my group of friends from school who I hung out with after we left school, I am the only one left. It’s sobering and it’s lonely. Memories cease to be a shared thing. 

 

And it hits me quite forcibly that, of my siblings and I, one of us will be left behind one day. I cannot imagine life without my brother and sister. I cannot predict who of us will ‘go’ first but the impact on all of us will be profound. I find myself worrying about them both more and more and needing frequent contact. 

 

I have a close friend who’s about eighteen months younger than I. She was diagnosed with kidney cancer during lockdown and there was a brief while when they said that it had spread, and we thought it was ‘game over’. I remember the chill when she told me, the disbelief, the imagining of life without her friendship for we’ve had so many adventures over the years. It seemed unthinkable that life could continue without her. They retracted that original diagnosis. She had a partial nephrectomy and is currently awaiting the results of her annual scan. But it feels like a temporary reprieve. And the time will come when one of us will be gone and whoever is left will have to deal with void of that lost friendship. 

 

Of course it is no different for people everywhere. Death is all around us. Death is part of life! But as you get closer to it you start to think about it more. One of my worries is not death itself exactly. I do wonder how it will happen. I experience such myriad pains and twinges throughout the course of a day I find myself wondering if they herald the beginning of the end. Obviously, I don’t want to suffer but I worry more about the mess and inconvenience I leave behind. The trappings of my life. Who will clear it all away? I’ve made a will leaving everything to my niece and nephew but neither of them may be able to go through my home and sort it all out. If I expire before my siblings, I don’t want them to have to trawl through my possessions. Sometimes I look at all my possessions, things that are familiar and dear to me and I know that most of them will probably end up in landfill. And it starts me thinking about the nature of our material lives and what it all means. What will happen to all my books? The signed copies? What if the house doesn’t sell after I’m gone? I don’t want anything to be difficult for those I leave behind. 

I have become more aware of the need to preserve life. The snail I unwittingly crushed or the fly trapped inside my home and left to expire on a window sill cause me much consternation and anguish. A life has ended and I am culpable. It can happen that quickly. So I take more care. 'Hurt no living thing.' Christina Rossetti. Practice Ahimsa.

 

And I think of all the things that I still want to do, places I still want to see, people I'd like to see again, and the stark reality is that I probably won’t. There comes a point as you age where hope and possibilities cease. And it’s a combination of the ageing process and the physical limits that can impose. You also start to wonder how long you’ve got left. I remember an aunt of mine in her late eighties who would wake each morning and wonder to herself, will it be today? I know of people who have reached a point and wanted to die. A dear friend of mine who reached her late eighties was struggling to get about and had been diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer’s was openly desirous of dying. She got her wish a couple of years ago.

It's strange the effect this all has one’s behaviour. The wasting of time becomes inexcusable. Those days when motivation is elusive, and momentum seems lacking. The level of frustration is immense. For time is running out. I find myself denying myself purchases that I might not have given a second thought to as a younger person. I ask myself if it is worth it at my age? And I look back to the past more than I ever did. The snatch of a sixties tune can bring me to tears for the memories it evokes. Sometimes, now, when I can't sleep, which is often, I go through my childhood homes, room by room picturing not just the furniture and effects but the occasions and the events. Sometimes I can even imagine the tastes and smells I associate with those times. It all feels so precious and I feel I took it all for granted. I wish I had savoured it all more.

 

And then there are some days when the sun is shining and the air has that particular, indefinable quality to it that evokes such a sense of yearning and upliftment and I watch that same sun sparkling on the sea as the tide comes in, the screech of the gulls and the twittering of the goldfinches, a sky so blue with cloud formations that take your breath away and I find myself so grateful that I have lived this day to experience it.

 

 

Exercise

When you are a child exercise seems to be built into your psyche. You run, skip, hop, jump all over the place amidst admonitions to walk or slow down.  As a child of the fifties and sixties I was aways climbing trees, kicking, throwing and hitting balls, skipping, scootering, cycling, roller skating, swimming - life was endless motion. It seems to change in adolescence!! Or maybe it was my bookish self that saw me more often sprawled on my bed with a consignment of library books. I still rode my bike but I’m not sure my teenage exercise regime was of optimum benefit health wise!  As a student I fared a little better, playing squash and tennis as well as walking everywhere to stretch the student budget. 

 

What is interesting is that during those years, and the earlier years as a working adult, gyms were places that were frequented by boxers, jogging in the streets simply didn’t happen, formal sport wasn’t especially evident for the masses. Most modern gyms didn’t appear until the 80’s and daily step counts and exercise wasn’t something that was advocated as an essential part of a heathy regime. 

 

I probably wasn’t particularly fit except that I didn’t run a car I walked everywhere. I eventually bought myself a bike again and I cycled everywhere. But it was joining a gym in the 90’s that turned me into a fitness freak. And it did become almost obsessive. I worked out, I ran, I swam, I cycled I walked, and I felt good! Being fit was good for my self-esteem and confidence. It certainly kept my weight in check.

 

Not being able to do those things hit me hard. I had to stop swimming because the docs reckoned that breaststroke caused the arthritis in my neck. I was a self-taught swimmer, and I knew no other stroke. The arthritis may or may not have caused a problem with my ears, so they advised heavy duty ear plugs if I did swim. I’m short-sighted but obviously I had to remove my specs to swim. I found that not being able to hear and not being able to see together did not make swimming the pleasure it had been.

 

I had reduced my cycling too because not being able to turn my neck made me feel unsafe on the road. I always observed the law and cycled on the road. I fitted a mirror to my handlebars which helped, but it just wasn’t the same. I felt much more vulnerable. So, although I still rode the bike from time to time it I was selective about routes and times! I remember one season when I cleaned the bike up, tested the brakes and oiled the gears I made to go for a cycle and found that I lacked the flexibility in my legs to get astride it! I was heartbroken. I’ve not ridden the bike since although it still sits forlornly in my garden shed. I have a static bike but that seems to exacerbate my hip and spine pains so reluctantly I’m not using it currently. 

 

After the spinal arthritis diagnosis, I started Tai Chi which sent the physio into a disproportionate spasm of delight when I told him! Shortly after that I started a seated yoga class. I found both classes beneficial. Both stopped because of lock down and sadly I’ve never reconnected with Tai Chi. About a year ago the seated yoga class started up again. And I walk – daily - if I can. I manage a couple of miles, sometimes more on a good day but I find the good days are less than they used to be. I live on the coast, so I have a glorious walk along the cliff tops that afford me beautiful estuary views. There are little paths that take you off the main throughfare and you can imagine you’re in the heart of the countryside not in a seaside town!

 

Although it is a far cry from my previous regime it is very satisfying and uplifting engaging with the natural world. If I can get out early the morning skies can be breathtaking. I consider myself fortunate that I can still go out and enjoy my surroundings. 

 

 

 

Neighbours

 On the face of it neighbours don’t have much to do with getting older. But I have found that as you age good neighbours are a comfort and a boon. I’ve been incredibly lucky with my neighbours over the years. In fact, they’ve nearly always become friends as well as being neighbours.  And in conversation lately, with various people I’ve found that good neighbours are not necessarily a given. 

Currently my neighbours either side of me and the one backing on to me are all more than just neighbours. I say currently because we live in a constantly changing world and nothing is a given.

On one side of me is Dot. She  was married to Bob. Bob had been a friend of mine for the last forty years and I knew him before I bought this house. It was he and his first wife who tipped me off about the property being for sale at a time when I was looking. I always turned him to him for advice and help with the house and DIY difficulties and he helped me out numerous times. He died in 2021 and I miss him so much. But I’m good friends with Dot and we get together over a cuppa from time to time. She always asks me to look after the cats, the fish, and water the plants when she goes away, I have a key to her house, and she has a key to mine. After Bob died, she found she couldn’t hack living alone so her daughter and son in law gave up their flat and came to live with her which I found to be an extremely selfless act on their part. . Debby and Terry are great fun but they’re always willing to help if I need it. For example, recently in these fierce winds that we’ve been having one of my fence panels blew down. I couldn’t lift it, so Debby and Terry came round and lifted it for me, and Debby’s brother came with a new fence panel the next day because she’d phoned him. So kind. 

On the other side are Ryan and Amy, a couple in their forties. DINK? That is the 21^st century acronym, I believe, double income, no kids! At first, I don’t think they knew how to be neighbours, they kept very much to themselves after the initial introductions. I made them a card - welcome to the neighbourhood - and put it through the door on the day of their moving in. And they knocked to say thank you. I didn’t see them for ages after that. Then one day, Bob helped him with a problem they were having, and that seem to be a catalyst for them, realising that we were quite a close community. So, over the nears they’ve become much valued residents in the neighbourhood. They invited me in on Christmas morning for croissants and champagne. Amy works in insurance, but she has a passion for pottery. She has a studio at the end of the garden, visually an eyesore, but inside she has a potter’s wheel and a kiln. She very generously let me have a turn on the wheel and I ‘threw’ a couple of pots. I was thrilled. Just before Christmas she invited me back to do some hand building in clay. It was so kind of her, and I really enjoyed myself.

 

From Flickr photo by Benjamin Balázs

At the back are Tracey and Kevin, a couple in their fifties, both their sons are grown and have fled the nest. When the boys were growing up there were a few issues. Noise! They are a loud family. It’s just the way they are. The boys were sport mad and the footballs and rugby balls came flying over on a daily basis. Sometimes I would come home to five or six in the garden. And I have to say my plants suffered. Another times Tracey’s Mum bought the boys a paint gun each and although they were under strict instructions to only fire in the garden the temptation proved too great and my property became a target. It was the height of summer with doors and windows open – my carpet still has the stain!! Tracey was mortified and bought me a hydrangea to apologise! And their parties are legendary in the neighbourhood. The noise is almost unbearable. They set up a karaoke stage right by my fence one year and it sounded as if they were singing in my house. It was dreadful because we could do nothing, couldn’t even hear our TVs - they got a lot of flak for that from some of the other neighbours and it’s never been quite as bad since. As they’ve all grown older it’s all calmed down. The boys, men now, are a delight, so polite and personable. Tracey is kindness personified. She would do anything for anyone.  She tells me to get in touch if ever I need anything. She bakes quite frequently and always delivers a slice of whatever she’s made – this weekend it was tiramisu cake, and it was heaven – to me and the elderly lady next door but one. Each year in the summer she hosts a barbecue for all the close neighbours. When I needed to attend the funeral of a relative in Surrey and I wasn’t sure how I would be getting there she offered to drive me! 

Now I’m old its harder for me to reciprocate as much as I’d like. I let Ryan and Amy use my driveway for their friends and relatives as parking is tight in the ‘hood. Tracey lost her mum recently and I believe I was able to offer the right level of support that she needed. But I feel I take more than I give which is hard for me as I am naturally a giver. It is very comforting when you live alone to know there Is someone close by to turn to if needed. I know I’m very lucky.  There are people who don’t even know the names of their neighbours.

 

Seasons

 

I find the season and the time of year affect me much more as I've aged. When I was a child the passage of time was dominated more by festivals like Christmas, Birthdays, Easter and the school holidays rather than any change in atmosphere and temperature. 

I've noticed this year especially I have longed, with almost desperation, for the changing of the clocks, the lighter evenings, the lighter mornings.  My mood brightens and my productivity increases. I have sometimes likened myself to a solar cell that needs abundant sunlight to recharge. There is a sense during the long winter afternoons and evenings of being shut in, confined like a caged beast pulling at invisible restraints. 

I did read somewhere that as you age your pupils become smaller and you require more light and that smaller pupils make it more difficult to see at night. That is something that has been more apparent this winter. For a while I thought there was a problem with my kitchen lighting as it didn't seem as bright as it used to do but now I understand that the light is fine, it is my eyes that have changed, I also read that as we age our eyes absorb less blue light which means we produce less melatonin and why sleep problems can occur. 

I can't remember when I first became aware that the season change and the decrease in the amount of daylight was a problem for me. I definitely don't remember any obvious signs when I was younger but maybe I was less self aware? I don't know. Although I've never bothered with attempting to get any kind of formal diagnosis I do believe I suffer from SAD - Seasonal Affective Disorder. I don't believe it has anything to do with ageing. I did read that it is likely that a lack of sunlight causes the hypothalamus to stop working properly so I guess that makes it a neurological condition. I follow the guidelines for how to deal with it - I try and get outside every day, I have a light box, I take Vitamin D in the winter months - but ultimately it's just the way it is and I have to deal with it. 

But the warmer, brighter weather also has an effect on easing my stiff joints, I think. There's no scientific evidence that climate pays any part in joint pain but many other sufferers report an easing in the summer months. It sounds silly but something as simple as wearing lighter clothes may be beneficial. Perhaps it's nothing to with warmth but weight? 

I would definitely say that my dread of winter has increased as I've aged to an almost state of panic. The end of October and the changing of the clocks is one of the worst days of the year! I've a friend who encourages me to look forward to the Winter Solstice and mark the gradual lengthening of the days. But that doesn't work for me. I find January 1st more hopeful, the start of a new year and the moving forwards towards Spring. I've become less a fan of Christmas as I've aged too which may account for the January 1st thing. 

Right now as I'm writing this, it's approaching 16:30 and lighting up time isn't until 18:01 today. That makes me ridiculously pleased. The sun is shining which is a wonderful contrast to the wet and gloomy weather we've experienced over the last few days. I love the evening light of the sun. That's something that has developed as I've grown older. It provokes in me a melting pot of emotion - a yearning, a thrill, a sense of having encountered something profoundly beautiful. 

PMA or Setting the Record Straight

I guess there's a danger of this becoming a negative, self absorbed, whinging, moaning kind of blog. and that's no good. I make no secret of the fact that I am not enjoying the ageing process one bit and it makes me very miserable and sad.  However I have to look at all the good things for I know that there are many who are not nearly as fortunate as I am. I know that we all have to live in our own reality and deal with it accordingly. But I do think that to step outside that and practice some objectivity is necessary.

I'm lucky. I have a roof over my head. I have clothes on my back. I have food in the cupboard. I was fortunate in that two of the jobs before I retired had pensions with them so in addition to my state pension I have two occupational pensions which means that I don't have to make the 'heat or eat' decision in the colder months. I'm not rich but I can live comfortably with a regular income.

My physical body may have let me down but for the moment my brain still seems to be okay. I do my fair share of forgetting names of people and objects (especially plants for some weird reason), I can't always find the word I want and know in conversation and I ‘enjoy’ the irritating practice of arriving in a room and wondering what I came in there for but I can still think and articulate to a reasonable level, I think! You may disagree! 

Also, I can still get in the bath! Only my bath, mind you. I never risk it in an alien bath. For with mine I know all the hand holds, exactly how to clamber in safely and without too much strain on my complaining limbs. I’ve had one or two scares where I’ve thought I can’t get out but I’ve managed to overcome them so far. I know the time will come when I have to get rid of the bath but I’ll take it one day at a time.( This could have had a place in the extreme sports post!)

Sometimes I despair at the over dependence on the Internet, and how everything has to be digitized, and every brand, company, activity you can think of has to have an app that must be used to gain maximum benefits. And how social media demands we share all aspects of our life and comment on other peoples or envy other people! But the practice of online shopping has been an absolute boon. Particularly for bulk and heavy items that I can no longer carry. Also for keeping in touch with friends and family. Video chats on WhatsApp means I can see my brother even though he’s miles away. having a smart phone makes me feel safer too. I make sure that I don’t go anywhere in the house or garden without it so that if I got into any difficulties - for example if I fell and couldn’t get up, I’ve got the phone there and I could contact somebody to come and help me.

As much as I complain, I do try to strike a balance by developing what a friend of mine calls positive mental attitude - PMA - and if I start to get down or negative with her she just says those three initials to me. 

So today, and hopefully it isn’t just one day only, I’m trying to practice PMA.

Pensioners and Extreme Sports

 Wait! Did you think I meant white water rafting, bungee jumping or skydiving? No, no, I fear it's more mundane than that. When you get old some of the most ordinary everyday things become extreme sports.

So let's start at the beginning of the day. Just getting out of bed. When you've lain in bed for a few hours, your arthritic joints get very stiff so just the simple act of getting out of bed can become challenging. I do have some exercises to do before I actually try to get out of bed and I guess they must help. Not really sure to be honest. But then I have to make sure I hang onto the bed head, sometimes the radiator so that I can lever myself up through the stiffness and the pain. I would say that it varies from day to day. Some days I seem to rise relatively easily. The irony is that I used to be one of those irritating people who leapt out of bed first thing, full of beans and raring to go. Even as recently as lockdown I was up and out at 05.00 am some mornings but I have deteriorated since then. Once out of bed and upright there becomes quite a pressing need to make it to the bathroom. Sometimes I walk, other times I stagger hanging on to door jambs as I go. I'm lucky in that the geography of my house has placed the bathroom close to my bedroom which is a blessing. 

Getting dressed? Never gave it a thought when I was younger, washed or showered I threw my clothes on.  Now it has become a much more careful and choreographed activity. Sit down on the bed for dressing the lower regions, slowly mind, then stand for the upper body. Being female the securing of my bra can sometimes demand some gymnastics from my arms and stiff fingers that doesn't seem to work sitting down. 

Once dressed the next event in the geriatric olympics is descending the stairs. Oh, how I long for the days when I ran up and down the stairs without thinking. My stairs have a slight turn in them at the top and once I've negotiated that I can sometimes go down 'normally' albeit clinging to the banisters. At other times it's one leg at time with a sense of relief and achievement on reaching the bottom without falling. 

Once downstairs it's plain sailing - until I need to ascend the stairs again! On a good day I try to make my reluctant legs work, letting my arms and upper body pull me up the stairs but on a bad day I go up on all fours. As I set off at the foot of the stairs I imagine the climb as Mount Everest for the elderly. In time I guess I’ll have a stair lift.

I like to go for a decent walk each day. I don't always manage it. Some days I feel like I'm wading through treacle and every step is an effort, other days it's easier. It's usually uncomfortable as one might expect with chronic pain but I can move beyond that when I see the sea, or maybe bump into a chum and stop for a chat. The weather plays its part too as I avoid going out on a frosty morning because my fear of falling has increased dramatically over the last few years. Winter Olympics are out. I often avoid the rain too but it depends on its severity for I don't actually object to rain per se.

But once I get outside then the fun begins! I'm not sure what it's like in other parts of the country or even the world but where I live there is a tendency of motorists to park partly on the pavement regardless, of whatever other obstacles there might be on the pavement.When you are young and flexible it's not such problem to squeeze past and you probably don't even notice the obstacle, (in this photo example though, I think it’s quite unlikely.), but when you don't move so easily it's a pain in the proverbials. Often I have to go round the car into the road which brings its own perils and dangers because motorists aren't expecting to see a little old lady shuffling along the tarmac!

Crossing the road too has changed for me. I used to be able to gauge pretty accurately whether I had time to nip across the road but now I find my judgement impaired. I am perhaps more anxious and hesitate where in reality I am perfectly capable of making the crossing! I do think confidence decreases and anxiety increases as I age.

But even when the pavement is clear and uncluttered by vehicles there are the perils of the pavement cyclists who believe they have right of way, the joggers who also believe they have right of way, the double buggy tandem mums who clearly feel they have right of way and even those on mobility scooters who seem to feel they have right of way too. In fact everyone seems to feel they have right of way except me it seems!!!! It is a strange thing for when I was a child hanging on to my mother's hand or the handlebar of my sister's pushchair I was frequently required to 'get out of the way' usually to let an older person continue their passage unobstructed. I would have to release my grip and walk behind my mum and the pushchair momentarily. I expressed my resentment in my self absorbed, childish way and my mother would assure me that when I was old everyone would get out of my way. NO! They don't! I have been barged by joggers, had cyclists ring their bells at me, been forced off the kerb by the baby strollers, none of them realising that I can't move as quickly as they can or indeed as quickly as I used to able to. 

I have realised that one trick is to use a walking stick. People do tend to observe you more, if you’re tap-tapping along the road with one. I don't like using the stick but now I always carry a fold up stick with me whenever I go out because there are times when it really does help. And I suppose it is a sign that maybe I need to be cut some slack. I don't move slowly deliberately!!

Another extreme sport I will mention is the 'restaurant slalom'. This can take place on entering an establishment and trying to find your seat, or more often it is when you need the loo and have to make your way through other diners without jostling them and without losing your balance. The gaps are sometimes incredibly narrow. Often you can negotiate a wayward path around the tables to make it an easier journey but you do get some strange looks and that's just from your own party!!! 'Where are you going?' 'The loo.' 'But it's that way!' 

Which brings me to my final high risk sport - actually going to the toilet when you're out. The problem is that the cubicles are often too small and narrow. When you aren't very flexible that can be tricky. And the seats are often too low. I have been in the position where I have thought, 'OMG I can't get up!' So I have been known to choose the disabled toilet sometimes. I don't class myself as disabled, just old and inelastic! But there are usually bars to hold on to lever myself up. However not everywhere has that facility. 

Other every day things like opening bottles and jars, even packets are really quite hard now, They are child proof and old person proof! The irony is that I used to have incredibly strong hands. My family, and even other people would always hand things to me to open! And now sometimes it’s the other way around.

Objectively it must be much the same for a baby or toddler negotiating life, but not perhaps being aware of the difficulties because the experience of finding things easy is never there. And some of the challenges brought about are because of the way life has changed. Years ago, cars didn’t park on the pavement at all. But we’ve produced vehicles that are too big for the roads that were created. And there’s so many cars now that parking is a real issue. As a cyclist when I was a kid, you wouldn’t dream of riding on the pavement. But then roads are much more dangerous now. I don’t think jogging existed when I was little! You were never in danger of being mown down by somebody running, full pelt along the pavement.

 So the challenges I face are a combination of my aging and a shifting emphasis in every day life. But when it comes to extreme sports for pensioners, I am a gold medalist!!