Lacking all grace

Old age: The lesser-known facts
By One Who Knows

You become invisible. This is often your own fault. You don’t go out as much. Leading to: Neighbour 1: You don’t see X much these days. Neighbour 2: Don’t hold your breath; he died last Christmas.

And that’s another. Oldsters die at Christmas. Maximum impact; more turkey to dispose of.

You are more/less vain. Becoming invisible you dress more extravagantly (and more foolishly) – especially with regard to socks. Alternatively, you say: Bugger it! Who cares? Answer the door unshaven, surlily, 6 oz of dried-on porridge in the crotch of your pants.

Trapped by routine. Let’s say it’s 8.10 pm. The package says the DVD lasts 2 hr 30 min. You say: I’ll miss the 10 pm news. The DVD continues to gather dust.

Your conversation shrivels. Eventually reducing to one topic. You can’t guess which? Then you’re already there. It’s old age.

Drug info. With difficulty, because the typeface is tiny, you start reading those minatory sheets that accompany your staving-off-death pills. You ask your GP about the symptoms of dengue. It’s a fever, she sighs.

Fiction. You’re convinced by a sixty-year-old memory that Stendhal writes more convincingly than Ian McEwan. You wake up noticing you’ve reached page three of The Charterhouse of Parma and that News at Ten is only a few minutes away. As the still-open novel slides off the arm of the couch you hear the pages crumple.

Meals. Spoons are more practical than a knife and fork.

The dentist. He says, audibly, your teeth are fine. But you’d swear he added sotto voce, given your age.

Wine. Fewer bottles but at higher prices.

Booze. You favour more complex drinks. Bloody Marys, for me. Hey, we’re running out of celery salt