Due to a very complicated set of circumstances I had to mail a sputum culture to the hospital (If that sound disgusting I apologise and welcome to the world of Cystic Fibrosis – but take it a step further, worse than having to post such an item is being on the receiving end of the aforementioned posted sample!). Anyway I had to catch the first post so I got up early and aimed to be at the post office counter bang on 9am to avoid the queues. I was beaten to the front of the queue by someone’s granny. Dressed in an itchy Edinburgh Woollen Mill woollen suit, with matching hat. I think she was withdrawing a pension and she couldn’t enter her pin. FOUR Times. ‘I’m Sorry dear, it’s my fingers.’
‘No love, it’s because you are old and should be in bed waiting for the rush hour to die down before venturing into the big wide world’, is probably how I would have reacted in the past. But I have seen my future and it involves getting up at the crack of dawn, driving through rush hour traffic like it was a Sunday afternoon and paying my bill at the Tesco’s checkout in pennies. And I think I am going to enjoy it.
For more thoughts on getting old try this poem Warning by Jenny Joseph
By the way if this was your granny please ask her to try a lay-in, so the rest of us can muddle through our lives until we too can enjoy retirement…
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