See if you are old enough to remember all this.
The ice cream lady in the cinema.
Ringing TIM.
Grannies who looked like grannies.
Wind up windows in cars.
Buttercup proof.
Listening to the sea in a shell.
Very uncomfortable swimwear.
Filing card systems.
The excitement of labelling everything using your Dymo machine.
Not having central heating or double-glazing.
When I was young, Religious Education was compulsory in school. I had a Bible at home, and read it more like a history book, than religious instruction. Parts of it were very dull, but others had action, adventure, even wars. I grew up not believing in any God or religion, but I did remember some of the quotes and catchphrases that I read. Two of them in particular stayed with me.
‘Mene, mene, Tekel Upharsin’.
Do you know what that is? It is the actual ‘Writing on the wall’ that gave us the phrase so often used today.
Then there was this one.
‘The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.’
So I was around eight years old, and could work out that they were talking about living until the age of seventy. Eighty at a push, if you had that ‘strength’ mentioned.
I spent the next twenty years expecting to die at seventy. Then I became an EMT in the London Ambulance Service. It wasn’t long before I realised that so many people die long before they are seventy. Especially people like me at the time who smoked cigarettes, worked shifts in stressful jobs, didn’t eat properly, and liked a drink on their days off.
Very soon, I started to think that fifty might be a good age for me to live to. When you do that job, you do become something of a fatalist.
Surprise surprise! I made it to 2022, and I am 70 years old today.
Maybe the Bible got it right?
Regular readers may remember that I was concerned about a squeaking noise coming from my car as I drove along. I was going to get it checked, but it went away. I still needed to have it checked, but what with trips back and forth to the Vet with Ollie, and frenzied decluttering at home taking up so much time, I forgot about it.
On Monday, I was going to the supermarket in my car when a new noise appeared.
This time it was a scraping sound much worse than before, and sounded sinister.
By the time I got home with the shopping, the scraping sound had changed to a grinding noise. Time to phone the repair company.
Although my car is 14 years old in June, it has reasonably low mileage for that age, (78,000) is an economical diesel capable of 50 miles to the gallon, and drives very well still. I cannot afford to replace it with anything newer that is remotely similar, with it’s roomy interior, 7-seat option, and 6-speed automatic gearbox.
So I have to keep it alive, by choking back the cost of constant repairs.
I booked a ‘brake check’ at a local company for Wednesday morning. I was up early, and arrived ten minutes before they opened, so my car would be one of the first to be worked on. I sat and waited while they did the check, to save Julie getting up early to collect me and drive me home.
After 45 minutes, the brake specialist came and got me, and took me to where the car was up on a ramp, all 4 wheels off. He showed me the problems.
A failed brake caliper on the back wheel had caused the disc to warp, which would have made the squeaking sound.
The other back wheel was doing all the rear braking, so the disc on that wheel was worn thin.
One pad had worn away completely on one of the front wheels, causing scarring on the disc.
The pads on the other front wheel were still legal, but worn down low.
He offered me various options.
1) Just enough work to make the car legal for now.
2) Replacement of the warped disc, and broken caliper, leaving the other damaged disc for later attention.
3) He could put all the wheels back on and give me back my car with no work done, and no charge for his time.
4) Replace every worn part with a guarantee to replace any new parts he fitted, should they fail within 12 months.
I went with option 4, and returned to the waiting room to read the hardback book I had brought along.
Almost 4 hours later, I had read all but the last chapter of the book. The caliper was not in stock, so there was a delay until it was delivered by a local company.
Then, work completed, he reversed the car outside the reception room, ready to come in and talk to me. As he did so, the glass in the driver’s door mirror fell out onto the tarmac and smashed. I shook my head, but actually smiled.
You couldn’t make it up.
The price for almost 5 hours of work, new brakes all round, and that expensive caliper? £619. ($840)
Or about half of what I could get for it if I sold the car for cash.
As for the mirror glass, I bought one off Ebay for £5. It arrives next week.
Yesterday, Ollie had the last of the medication for the current round of treatment.
He has had a lot of tablets, both antibiotics and steroids, as well as daily ear drops for some time now.
We finally managed to get him to swallow the tablets with no fuss, by concealing them in a small chunk of Brie. He lets me give him the ear drops without resistance, though he flinches every time I insert the tube deep into his ear.
I would flinch too.
His fur is slowly growing back, but some of the bald patches are still clearly visible. The head shaking has stopped, and he has been sleeping and eating well.
Once the steroids are out of his system by the weekend, I can start to give him his Arthritis tablets again. Despite being stiff-legged now, he still manages his walks.
Earlier this week, he even chased a Muntjac deer into some reeds by the river, and the animal escaped Ollie by running through the water and leaping out onto Hoe Rough.
On the 12th of February, Ollie will be 10 years old. Around 80 in human years, for his breed.
You can bet he will get a birthday tribute!
Unlike my frequent ‘Thinking Aloud On A Sunday’ posts, this is more by way of a collection of things I have been thinking about over the past week.
I have had to face the fact that I can no longer do many jobs around the house and garden. What with Vertigo, muscle weakness caused by Statins destroying my arm muscles, and the general onset of old age, I have let things go, to say the least.
I finally bit the bullet, and arranged for contractors to come and give estimates for clearing the shabby front driveway, and relaying the gravel that once covered the car parking area. With space to park up to four cars, depending how big they are, this is a considerable job. When I look back at old photos taken when I was regularly weeding and tidying the area, I hate that it now looks like nobody has bothered for a few years.
The first man who came was very local, living just a few streets away. He gave a fair price, and offered to start very soon. But when he was contacted to accept the quote, he wanted half the money up front.
This is a warning flag for home owners. NEVER pay any money up front for any work on your property, especially to someone you have never met before. He was told “Thanks but no thanks”, and the second man was contacted.
Fortunately, he was completely professional, and our attitude to him was helped by the fact that he had done some garden landscaping work for a neighbour earlier this year. Not only did he provide a fair (albeit more expensive) quote, he made us feel very confident with his grasp of what was required. In addition, his company can tackle other jobs we need doing next year, like sorting out the wonky patio at the back, fixing a fence and gate, and paving over some parts of the lawn.
Hopefully, we should have a fresh and smart driveway before Christmas, and arrangements in place to have the back garden sorted next Spring.
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A few houses in the village already have Christmas lights illuminated on their houses. Is it just me, or are people celebrating things earlier and earlier every year? We haven’t even got past Halloween, and some are beginning to celebrate Christmas in late October. My own opinion is that this actually diminishes the traditional enjoyment of any celebratory festivities, and I fully expect to be seeing Christmas lights in August soon.
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It has been nice to see Ollie chasing deer again this week. As he has been getting old so visibly, and not enjoying very long walks anymore, his sudden bursts of enthusiasm to chase random deer in the woodland are a delight. Of course, he has no hope of catching them, and he pays for it later with much longer sleeps, and stiff front legs by late evening. But I want him to enjoy life, even though he really is too old for such hunting exploits.
Sometimes, I think about life without Ollie, if he goes before me. I try to cut those thoughts short, as life without my constant companion and best friend is not something I enjoy contemplating.
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Covid-19 is still very much in the news. Despite all the government self-congratulation, infections are back on the rise, and deaths attributed to the virus account for around 100 reported every day. That means that 3,100 people in England will have died of Covid-19 by the end of October. Imagine the catastrophic impact on all those families.
Yet more and more people refuse to be vaccinated, and continue to assert that it is all just a conspiracy.
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Have a lovely Sunday, everyone.
Best wishes, Pete.
Yesterday, my step-daughter had a party to celebrate her engagement to her long-term boyfriend. A happy occasion planned for the daytime, outside in their garden.
We had good notice of it, and Julie made two large trifles to add to the food on offer, most of which was to be barbecue. The weather wasn’t celebrating though, and early rain where they live 28 miles south necessitated the erection of two large canvas pergola shelters, and the addition of some large garden umbrellas. The gathering was for family and friends, around twenty in total, and as it was outside we didn’t have to be too concerned with safety precautions for Covid-19.
I took Ollie out early. He couldn’t come to the party, as my step-daughter has an enormous dog that Ollie has never met. We didn’t want to take the chance of any doggy disputes spoiling the day for everyone. Then just after 12:30, we drove down to their house in torential rain. Julie was holding the two big glass bowls containing the trifles, which were resting on a large tray on her lap. I had to drive very carefully around roundabouts and sharp bends!
Fortunately, the rain stopped just as we arrived. I got two folding chairs from the back of the car, which we had brought to make sure we had somewhere to sit.
It was a lovely afternoon, with everyone in a great mood. The rain held off, the six small children played together with no dramas, and the Shetland Pony-sized dog (a Cane Corso) was friendly to everyone, even if he did have to be strictly watched around anything edible. We sat on our chairs, hardly moving except to go to and from the table to get things to eat.
By six in the evening, many of the party-goers had to leave, to get their children home to bed. We stayed until 6:30, before driving home. Ollie was very pleased to see us after being left for so long, and he was given an extra treat as a reward.
It wasn’t long after that, only nine at night in fact, before both of us were yawning as if we had been awake for three days. By eleven, I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and made an early start on a night’s sleep. This morning, both of us feel stiff and achey from sitting on the low collapsible chairs for so long yesterday.
Literally worn out from doing nothing.
Do you ever get tired? I don’t mean because you worked hard in the garden, or didn’t sleep too well last night.
I get tired now. Bone tired, exhausted. Mostly from doing very little. A couple of hours dog-walking. Sorting out the evening meal.
How tiring can that be? Well, quite a lot, apparently.
Age and tiredness seem to go hand-in-hand. Everything I do feels exhausting now.
That might be just cutting the grass, or buying the ‘big shop’ at the local supermarket.
How did this happen? Where did it come from?
Okay, I am 69 years old. Far from ‘ancient’, in the 21st century.
Whatever the reason, I am still tired.
And often completely worn out too.
I have to say that I don’t like it that much, but I will have to learn to live with it.
Undoubtedly.
As I set off with Ollie yesterday, I walked past two young mums pushing toddlers on the swings in the small playground. I had seen one of them before, and politely nodded to her as I went by.
The other young woman turned and asked her “Do you know him?”
The first one shook her head, replying “No, but he’s always here whenever I bring Chloe to the swings. I see him walking here all the time. I just think of him as the old man walking”.
This was all said less than twenty feet fom me. I presume they thought my craggy face and sparse silver hair also affected my hearing.
As I went through the gate of Hoe Rough, I was smiling. Their exchange had made me think of the film ‘Dead Man Walking’. In the film, a prisoner on death row is preceded by a prison guard as he moves around. The guard calls out “Dead man walking! Dead man walking here!” https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112818/
Perhaps I should employ someone to walk ahead of me?
He could call out “Old man walking! Old man walking here!” 🙂
When did you first feel ‘grown up’? Do you remember it as a specific time, or did it happen gradually?
When I was a child, it was a two-word phrase that was used to scold me. “Grow up!” I first remember my dad using it when I was probably seven or eight years of age. He was still saying it the last time I had a conversation with him when I was twenty-four. He never realised just how much time I had spent wanting to grow up.
For most of the twelfth year of my life, I wanted to be thirteen. A teenager was something to aspire to, especially with the expanding freedoms of the 1960s. By the time I was sixteen, I wanted desperately to be seventeen, so I could drive a car. Driving was going to make me into an immediate grown-up, I was convinced of that.
Although a change in the law allowed me to vote when I was eighteen, I couldn’t wait to be twenty-one. That was manhood! Key of the door time. A twenty-one year old was undeniably a man. A grown up. But my twenty-first was something of an anti-climax. It seemed I really had to be twenty-five before my car insurance company would consider me to be a responsible adult, and reduce my high premiums accordingly.
Then I was twenty-five, and got married that same year. I was a married man! Surely that was grown up? But the insurance company didn’t reduce my payments, citing increased costs as the reason to make me keep paying the same amount. Three years later, I was working as an EMT in Central London.
Now I felt really grown up. Driving an emergency ambulance with sirens and flashing lights, arriving at the scenes of terrible accidents and major disasters. It doesn’t get much more grown up than that, believe me. But to my older colleagues, with their additional ten or twenty years of experience, I wasn’t considered to be in the least bit grown up.
Much later, I read about not losing your ‘inner child’. Decades of emergency duties had made me a serious person, someone obsessed with being an adult. I had to try to find that inner child lurking within, or I would be sacrificing a large part of my personality.
It wasn’t easy, I can tell you. But finally, at the age of sixty-nine, I might have found that balance.
I discovered what it means to be grown up.
It is only the 17th of february today, but to me it already feels like the 44th of February. Strange how the shortest month can seem so long, especially after arriving as it did with severe winter weather, and a reminder that Spring might still be some way off.
Valentine’s Day is halfway through the month, but to me it already feels like that happened three weeks ago.
And this year is not even a Leap Year, when that extra day on the 29th feels more like an extra week.
I once worked with someone whose birthday was the 29th of February. He made quite a lot of the fact that his birth date was only once every four years. When he was 32, his wife gave him a birthday card with ‘8 Today!’ on the front.
He loved February, for obvious reasons. I don’t like it, for my reasons.
Come on March, get here soon!
beetleypete 