Janet Christie: I like to think there’s life in this old dog

Published on 02/04/2012 00:00

I WON’T see 40 again but I like to think there’s life in this old dog yet. However, I’m surrounded by friends hirpling happily at breakneck speed towards decrepitude, embracing the creeping decay of age like a comforting tartan blanket over the lap.

“I like cheese but it doesn’t like me,” says one friend. Aw shut up.

“It’s my knees …,” says another.

I want to kick him.

A third claims: “I can’t move my back in the morning,” and another, “Small print is beyond me now.”

Snort. We’ve got decades yet. If we give up now we’ll be too addled for the fun we’re going to have when the kids eventually leave.

Then it starts to afflict me too. Walking along a city street after alighting from a train on which I’d fallen asleep, I’m struggling to remember not what day it is – I know it’s Sunday – it’s the month I’m grappling with. For a few seconds, without any trees to check for blossom, I’m wondering if it’s spring or autumn. I decide not to panic. Let’s see, the hell of Christmas is still fresh – it must be spring. Granted, I was up until 3am salsa dancing and I may be nursing a slight hangover, but still.

Ignoring my clicky hip, I get a wiggle on, homeward bound, to up my future carers’ pocket money.