Janey Godley: What do you mean I could break a hip – how old do you think I am?

Published on Sunday 28 December 2008 18:12

LAST week in Glasgow, I slipped on the icy pavement and a young, well-dressed man shot out an arm and caught me.

His lightning-fast reactions impressed me, I gave him my best sexy smile and I thanked the suited superhero for his help. "That's OK, lady," he smiled and patted my back. "Now you watch your step in this cold: you could break a hip in this weather."

You know you are old when young men call you 'lady' and flirting is replaced with back patting.

Just to confirm my new-found ancient status, I now take baby steps on frosty ground. Much like the old ladies from my childhood who used to wear thick woolly socks over their shoes as makeshift safety devices. I don't know if that actually works, but I am considering trying it. I no longer care if people laugh at how I look, as falling on concrete scares me to death. I might die down there.

My dad has handles on his bathroom wall and I recall mocking him for it. This weekend I fitted my own after a soapy-slippy head-banging incident that left me naked on the loo floor with one leg wrapped around the toilet bowl. My husband had to come in and help me stand up. He was making the same comforting noises that people make when dealing with a small injured toddler or a coma victim needing a bed bath.

"There you go…" he muttered. "That's good, now move your other leg… well done, you clever girl." I had a terrible flash forward to when I will be a saggy, senile old lady who needs folk to move her body about and it made me horrified.

Am I going to be an invalid? Will I wear a bed jacket? Who will change my knickers?

These thoughts have never entered my head before; I didn't know old age was hurtling towards me with the speed of a rabid greyhound dog.

I am only 47 years old and that's got to be the new 30, surely?

There are still wonderful experiences ahead of me that don't involve taupe coloured elasticated clothing and bus runs to knitting exhibitions that feature scones as the highlight of the trip.

I don't want to let my roots grow in, I have no intention of getting an old-lady-type hair-do. At what age does a short back and sides become your choice of style?

2009 might be my year for having a midlife crisis; I may take up skateboarding, skydiving and run away to live on a beach in Bali with a boy called Ben.

Or I might just start accepting I can't dance in the shower anymore.

Nothing wrong with a nanny state

A RECENT health report stated yet again that babies left in childcare as their mothers go out to work will grow up emotionally stunted.

I am sick to the back teeth of professionals yapping on at working mammies and blaming all society's ills on them. We are in a recession; everyone is taking work on and slogging it out.

People forget that fathers are often missing from the home as they work their butts off week-in, week-out, yet it's always the mums who get the blame if kids start acting up.

We either stay at home and nurture the babies wholly or go and work to provide a better standard of life for them.

Or maybe this caring government will help out more and fulfil their promise to pull all kids in Scotland out of poverty?

There's a New Year Resolution for you, Mr Brown.

Putting the boot into first-footing New Year traditions

WHO will first foot you as the New Year's bells ring out?

It used to be a sign of good luck if it was a man carrying a black bun, whisky and some coal in his pockets. That now strikes me as creepy. Who carries cake and coal in their coat?

Old Hogmanay traditions have gone, and thank goodness – as it used to be the done thing to ply small kids with ginger cordial and vodka and then laugh at them as they vomited over the record player.

Happy New Year everyone, and watch out for coal-carrying men and ginger cordial cocktails for the kids.

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