Not so old?

Like most people, I guess, I take news of some especially long-lived oldie quite uncritically, but apparently a lot of these amazing ages may not be genuine, due to dubious documentation and other errors.

In 2010, more than 230,000 Japanese centenarians turned out to be missing, imaginary, clerical errors or dead. In Greece 72 per cent of census-reported centenarians in 2012 were discovered to be no longer alive.

Do we even want to live so long? Rising numbers of oldies are enduring chronic medical conditions that restrict their quality of life. And do we really want to wake up every day to yet more horrific crimes, international conflicts, dictators and corporate greed? Better a shortened age with a good quality of life than an advanced age that isn't any fun any more.

My mum lived until 96, by which time her quality of life was pretty poor. She had had dementia for several years, and had problems with walking and personal care, as well as having limited physical energy. Quite honestly, she would have been better off if she had died a few years earlier.

So I don't take any notice of people's sure-fire blueprints for living longer. I'll leave others to test them out. I'll happily accept whatever life span I've been allotted, as long as I'm still fit enough to enjoy it.

Meddling bullshit

People can't resist the urge to speculate madly about some police investigation, despite being warned that such speculation is obstructing official inquiries and spreading all sorts of wild conjecture.

The partner of Nicola Bulley, who was missing for 33 days early in the year, has described the online obsession with her disappearance as a monster that got out of control.

Paul Ansell said his family initially welcomed the huge public interest, but that changed when amateur sleuths on social media began posting numerous misleading theories about what had happened.

They accused him of killing her, misconstrued the limited information available, and released personal details about Nicola. Some people travelled to Lancashire to "help" the police, and simply got in the way.

Airing dubious theories in private to your family or friends is one thing (and I'm tempted to speculate as much as anyone else) but posting those theories online to thousands of impressionable people who're likely to keep repeating them indefinitely is another.

Of course a lot of the online speculation is just about getting attention, and the more attention the merrier.

Some of the would-be pundits even make out they're smarter than the police and have spotted things the police have overlooked. The sheer arrogance and self-inflation is breathtaking.

Unfortunately social media provides a perfect platform for these outpourings of meddling bullshit.

Pic: Nicola Bulley

Waited on

I sometimes fantasise about being so rich I can have everything done for me while I laze around doing nothing. I would be waited on hand and foot and not have to move a muscle.

But would I really enjoy that? Actually I think I'd hate it. I like doing things for myself and organising my own life. I wouldn't want other people butting in and doing things for me.

Apart from anything else they'd probably never do anything exactly the way I wanted it done and I'd have to keep putting them right. Or they'd be hanging around when I wanted a bit of privacy. Or I wouldn't get on with them and there'd be constant friction and annoyance.

How do the Royals put up with all the flunkeys attending to their every need? I suppose they've been waited on for so long they're totally used to it and would be horrified at having to do everything themselves.

I suppose being waited on is generally seen as a sign of luxury, but I'd rather have the luxury of doing things for myself the way I want to do them. Why be constantly beholden to other people for the most basic everyday actions?

For a while in London we took on a cleaner because we were both working full time and found it hard to fit in the housework. I was never comfortable about it though, I always felt we should somehow be managing to do the cleaning ourselves.

But I wouldn't mind a chauffeur to take over the hassle of driving.

Turning the clock back

I'm perpetually amazed by the number of people who desperately want to look younger, and resort to all sorts of dubious methods to achieve it. Why are they no sooner middle-aged than they want to turn the clock back and look young again? What's so awful about the way they look as they get older?

I've never wanted to look younger, I'm quite happy with the way I look at 77. I suppose I turned a few heads when I was young but I don't sit around pining for my lost looks and envying the latest generation of pretty young things.

Instead of wanting to look young again and wanting the attention that might bring, why can't we just be a bit more positive about the entirely natural appearance of older people instead of being embarrassed by it and seeking to erase it?

To my mind, many people look wise and more distinguished as they age, while the very young can look quite bland and characterless. And older people, because they've knocked around a bit, often have fascinating back stories.

But no, people want to slice away as many years as possible and artificially turn back time, and they'll try absolutely anything to get the desired effect. Botox, surgery, shapewear, anti-ageing cream, dental enhancements. Whatever it takes, and whatever it costs.

It's always tragic when some perfectly healthy youngster opts for a dodgy procedure at some unregulated foreign clinic and returns home with serious after-effects that the NHS has to put right. If they're even more unlucky, they might die on the operating table, leaving their family and friends to grieve.

We all have to grow older. Why try to fight it?

Edinburgh

All can now be revealed. I'm not on my death bed, I'm not in prison, I haven't been scammed for thousands of pounds. Jenny and I have just had a few days in Edinburgh.

We went to various museums and galleries, we went to Belfast Zoo, we went to Leith, which is the latest trendy Edinburgh district, and we met up with our old friend Sheila. Sheila was one of my oldest blog mates until she gave up blogging but turned into a long-term friend.

We stayed at the Premier Inn, which we've stayed at several times, but this time the standard had slipped a bit. The shower temperature was either very hot or stone cold, the fridge door was hanging off its hinges, and the windows hadn't been cleaned for a long while, which rather spoiled our view of Edinburgh Castle. But the hotel was warm and clean, the staff were friendly, and we had some great cooked breakfasts.

My favourite animals at the zoo were the meerkats. I love the way they stand on their back legs with their front legs drooping, watching what's going on. I also love the lemurs, which I'm told are the most endangered species on the planet - 95 per cent of lemur species are at risk of extinction.

Some facts about Edinburgh:

• The city is built on an extinct volcano
• It has more trees per head of population than any other UK city
• It has more listed buildings than anywhere in the world
• Grassmarket has a history of executions. Thieves, murderers and political outcasts were regularly hanged in the 18th and 19th centuries
• A unicorn is the national animal of Scotland

All in all, it was a bonnie wee holiday.

Intermission

There will now be a short intermission

I leave you with a selfie - in Brighton, May 2024

Just marvelling

Things (and people) I marvel at:

• Aeroplanes. How do these massive things manage to stay in the air?
• The internet. All 1613 of my posts are stored in some data centre somewhere. Not to mention endless information available at the click of a mouse. And dozens of other uses.
• Squirrels. They're considered to be among the most intelligent animals in the world. Known for their quickness, intellect, memory, and ability to plan ahead.
• Smart phones. Revolutionised communication. A mobile phone, camera and computer in one device.
• Cutting edge surgery and medical treatment. Previously incurable conditions can now be beaten.
• Love. What is it that makes us fall in love - possibly for an entire lifetime?
• The human brain. For its imagination, its ability to think and reason, its grasp of complexities, and its sudden surprising insights.
• Rock stars who're still alive despite the drugs, the booze, the junk food, the late nights. Mick Jagger is now 81.
• The pianist Yuja Wang. Her astonishing dexterity.
• The mass murmurations of starlings. How come they never collide with each other?
• Chinese trains that can travel at up to 286 mph.
• Polyglots. Like Ziad Fazah from Lebanon, who claims he can read and speak 58 languages including Arabic, Polish, Thai, Urdu, Norwegian, and many more. What's his secret?

There are probably many more things I marvel at, but they don't come to mind right now. I might add a few items as I think of them. We all need to marvel more and scoff less.

A right royal hoo-ha

Well, that's quite enough earnest introspection. And now for something completely different.

No sooner was a new statue of the late Queen and Prince Philip unveiled at Antrim Castle in County Antrim than it was widely ridiculed, a common opinion being that the female figure looked nothing like the Queen, and that Prince Philip didn't look much like Prince Philip.

One critic even suggested that the late monarch looked more like Mrs Doubtfire. And Philip looks more like a movie villain about to roast some useless underling.

Antrim and Newtownabbey Borough Council commissioned the local artist Anto Brennan to create the sculpture and claimed to be delighted, saying it captured the Queen "in a dignified pose, reflecting her grace, steadfastness and life-long devotion to public service."

But Vera McWilliam, an Antrim and Newtownabbey councillor, thought the critics had a point. "We have to be honest, it does not resemble the queen in any shape or form."

Other statues that have been roundly derided tend to be discreetly removed. I await with interest whether this statue meets the same fate.

Another statue of Philip dressed as a don, erected in Cambridge at an estimated cost of £150,000, was also derided and removed. Presumably a similar sum was spent on the controversial statue of the two Royals.

Anto Brennan hasn't made any public comment on his statue as yet.

Pic: The contentious statue

Inhibitions

Funny things, inhibitions. You can be totally inhibited about one thing but not at all inhibited about something else.

Things I'm not inhibited about:

• Revealing my naked body. I don't care how "imperfect" it may be, it is what it is. I attended two all-male schools where we revealed our bodies all the time.
• Physical contact with other people. I love hugging and kissing, though other men still find kissing and hugging men rather weird.
• Terms of endearment. Jenny and I use them all the time, even really silly ones.
• Complaining. I'll always complain if necessary. Why should I accept a product or service that's not as it should be?
• Saying no. Meaning the chancers on the doorstep promoting some service or other. No, I don't need a tree surgeon. No, I don't want to worship the Lord.
• Admitting my mistakes. I'm not one to hide my mistakes or make out they're someone else's fault. We all screw up now and then.

Things I'm inhibited about:

• Talking to people who seem much more intelligent. Will they find my remarks stupid or ignorant?
• Talking about sex. I regard sex as something private, something that only concerns sexual partners.
• Talking to complete strangers. What should I say to them, what should I talk about? I'm always at a loss for words.
• Talking to people who're well-read. People who make endless references to famous books I've never read and expect me to be familiar with them.

But I'm not inhibited about revealing my inhibitions.

Why so abusive?

Why are people so abusive nowadays? Why can't they just deal with an annoying situation calmly, without vilifying someone?

Two customers at our local Caffè Nero this morning were angry that they were having to wait a few minutes for service, mainly because a computer problem meant cards or phone payments couldn't be processed and it was cash only.

The angry customers didn't have any cash and cursed the staff for the inconvenience, although the problem wasn't due to the staff who were coping as best they could and probably feeling just as frustrated as the customers.

People take out their discontent on innocent shop staff, when nine times out of ten a problem has nothing to do with staff but is down to a computer failure or incompetent managers or poor training.

No wonder there's such a constant change of staff at Caffè Nero if that's the way they're treated by a significant number of customers. Why put up with a daily stream of abuse if you can find a job where you're appreciated rather than sworn at?

Jenny and I never ever abuse shop staff (or staff anywhere), even if they're making a real mess of something. We know the pressure they may be under and we're more likely to be friendly and patient and helpful than nasty and arrogant.

And what does that abuse achieve apart from venting your emotions? If the problem isn't caused by the staff, probably nothing except a horrible atmosphere.

No more high heels?

Supposedly high heels are losing their appeal. Young women are less likely to wear them, businesses are less likely to insist on them. Comfort is taking priority over pain and fashion.

Or so says a journalist who gave up wearing high heels because they damaged her achilles tendons and calf muscles. They took several years to recover.

Well, as you may recall I've always been bemused by the popularity of high heels. Everyone knows they do all sorts of damage to your body but women keep on wearing them because they're seen as sexy or glamorous or if it's the workplace they make you look "professional" and "businesslike".

Personally I don't find them the least bit sexy, just rather masochistic. What's sexy about something that's probably uncomfortable and painful?

As for their looking professional, I don't judge office workers by their footwear but by how well they do their job. And as I've said before, if high heels make you look professional, why don't men wear them?

Unfortunately a lot of men want their womenfolk to wear high heels because yes, they're seen as sexy. So women oblige them and put up with the discomfort.

I don't think Jenny has ever worn high heels and she would never contemplate wearing such things. She would never sacrifice comfort for some dubious idea of being sexy or eye-catching.

In 2017 Nicola Thorp started a petition against the compulsory wearing of high heels at work when she was sent home from her temp job after refusing to wear high heels. Her petition attracted over 100,000 signatures and was debated in parliament but was then quickly forgotten about.

But maybe seven years on attitudes are finally changing?

......................................................................................

I'm no longer getting comments via email so it may be that I miss some comments and don't respond to them. I have no idea how to restore the emails. Sorry about that.

A question of trust

Another heated debate about parenting and to what extent you should trust your child to do their own thing without fussing and fretting and watching them like a hawk.

There's been a lot of criticism of Kirstie Allsopp, the presenter of a TV property programme, for allowing her 15 year old son and a 16 year old friend to take a rail trip round Europe on their own.

Even the local council has got involved, with Social Services starting a file on her for supposedly neglectful parenting.

Kirstie Allsopp insists that she knows her own child and had no doubt he was mature enough to make such a trip and cope with any problems that arose. Which he did.

It seems to me that it's entirely up to the parent to decide what their child is capable or not capable of. What business is it of other people to judge them and tell them they made the wrong decision? What do they know about the child's capabilities?

The assumption is that parents are too laid back and let their children do anything they want without properly observing them and keeping them out of harm's way.

As you know, Jenny and I don't have any children, but I imagine that if we had done I for one as a rather anxious individual would probably have been over-protective and over-watchful, deterring my children from spreading their wings and finding their way in the outside world.

I'm sure I would have exaggerated all the dangers and conjured up all sorts of dire eventualities. I suspect I'd have been an alarmingly neurotic parent.

Pic: Kirstie Allsopp

The dating minefield

When I was young, dating was a fairly simple business. You dated a friend of a friend, or a workmate, or a neighbour, and either you got on or you didn't.

Now it's more complicated. There are online dating services that invite you to contact total strangers, people you've never met in your life and know absolutely nothing about.

You can only go by what information they put online, which may be heavily embellished or completely fabricated. They may have assumed an entirely fictitious identity, with a fake photo they've stolen from someone else. How do you judge whether what they're telling you is true or not?

At least when I was dating someone in the flesh, someone I probably knew quite well, I knew what I was getting. I knew they were the person they said they were, I knew what they looked like, I knew they weren't artificially enhanced.

They might have put on a bit of a false front or hidden a few bad habits, but they were basically what they appeared to be.

But that's not the only change. Anyone trying online dating also has other hazards to contend with - like scamming and stalking. Apparently they're now so rife on dating sites that customers are deserting them in droves.

Some 52 per cent of online daters said they had come across someone they thought was trying to scam them; 57 per cent of women said online dating is not too or not at all safe; and 85 per cent said someone continued to contact them after they said they weren't interested.

All in all, dating seems to have become a minefield. I'm glad all that's behind me.

Rising loneliness

I read that loneliness is on the rise, with seven in ten of 18 to 24 year olds saying they feel lonely and 29 per cent saying they feel a fundamental separateness from other people and the wider world.

That surprises me because I don't often feel lonely. I may feel bored or out-of-place or weird, but not lonely. I don't feel separate from other people because I know I have lots in common with them, even if we're not actually face to face or talking to each other.

Even when I lived on my own, before I met Jenny, I didn't feel lonely because I got out and about and didn't feel a need for other people's company as I had plenty of company at work.

Not that having company is necessarily the answer to loneliness. I can be in a crowd of people and still feel lonely because I don't feel they understand me or that they're on my wavelength or they share my interests.

The feeling of loneliness has many causes, in particular not being happy with your own self and wanting other people's reassurance or support or appreciation. I suppose it also includes the feeling of missing out, that other people are having a better time than you are. I guess every lonely person has their own definition of loneliness and what it feels like.

It doesn't help that the prevailing view of human beings is that we're social creatures and need other people around us to feel good. That ain't necessarily so.

Sort of nostalgia

I like to think I'm not nostalgic, which may be true in a general sense - I don't want to return to any supposedly preferable historical period - but it's not quite true in a more specific sense.

I may not want to relive the nineteen sixties or my childhood or my most rewarding job, but I do think fondly of times when certain things were done better than they are now (or so I believe).

Like routinely talking to a human being on the phone rather than an automated voice that doesn't understand my problem and suggests I consult some online trouble-shooting page that also doesn't understand my problem.

Like using older buses that have plenty of seats rather than new buses with far fewer seats, requiring you to stand up for your entire journey.

Like visiting tourist destinations when they were still deserted and a pleasure to explore, unlike now when over-tourism has made many places a ghastly human traffic-jam you have to fight your way through.

Like tourist locations when people were happy just to linger and enjoy their surroundings without taking 101 selfies and getting in everyone's way.

So yes, I'm a sort of dabbler in nostalgia, most of the time not looking back but sometimes regretting how things have changed.

I hasten to add that lots of things have changed for the better, which is why I'm not habitually nostalgic. Who could be nostalgic for typewriters or cassettes or black and white TVs? Not many, I imagine.

Am I obliged?

Are you obliged to your family simply because they're your family? Is it peculiar to step away from them, even if they're having a hard time and need support?

I would say there's no obligation at all. You never asked to be part of that family in the first place, so you owe them nothing, except maybe appreciation for having brought you up well (if indeed they did).

You may get on famously with your family, so you're happy to support them in any way necessary. But if you don't get on with them, if there's constant tension and conflict and dislike, why should you feel obliged to do anything for them?

I didn't get on with my father, and I didn't get on that well with my mother. So I never felt obliged to them. I barely know my sister and brother in law as they're quite uncommunicative, so again I don't feel obliged to them. And why should they feel obliged to me?

There's still a general expectation that children will look after their elderly parents, but if you don't feel any bond with your parents, or they actively undermine you, why should they expect anything from you?

Those people who strongly dislike their parents but still feel they should support them and look after them are remarkable, but I could never have managed that.

I don't expect anyone to feel obliged to look after me in my dotage (except the NHS of course). If they feel the urge to do so, that's fine.

Pub ding-dong

It's weird how easily a minor issue can turn into a major slanging-match - or worse. Quite often both sides dig their heels in and refuse to budge an inch.

Tempers flared when Jared Dunn, landlord of the Blue Bell pub in Conwy, Wales, asked 30 or so customers who were singing in Welsh to leave the pub because they don't allow singing and other customers found it disturbing. People were leaving the pub and in some cases not even finishing their meal.

That seems to me a reasonable response to the singing, but there was an angry reaction from some people who contended there was nothing wrong with singing in a pub and thought the landlord was wrong to put a stop to it. Some Welsh speakers thought it was an example of the language being marginalised.

Mr Dunn said "The pub is for everyone's enjoyment, and they didn't conform to a reasonable request. Many pubs have this rule in place, to enable their customers to have some peace and quiet while they're eating. It's the same reason we don't show sports or allow any kind of football chanting."

He has nothing against the Welsh language as his wife is Welsh and his children are learning the language. As it happens the family are moving to nearby Prestatyn in a few weeks, so he will soon leave the absurd row behind.

Jenny and I don't like having to listen to loud background music when we're eating or just chatting in a café or restaurant, so we have every sympathy with Mr Dunn.

Hard work and how

Jenny and I agree that as we get older we have a much greater appreciation of other people's achievements, of the hard work and determination that made those achievements possible.

When I was young I would be aware that a top novelist or lawyer or sportsperson or art restorer had done something special, but I wouldn't be aware of the full extent of what lay behind it and what it took to achieve it.

I never realised what the top novelist had to go through to produce the novel that I casually summed up as impressive or exciting. I imagined that they just sat down, scribbled away for a few weeks, and hey presto a brilliant novel.

I never thought about how hard it was to come up with an unusual and convincing plot, or vivid characters, or a dramatic ending. Or how hard it was to write fluent, smooth-flowing prose for hundreds of pages. Or how hard it was to keep at it day after day without being distracted. Or how hard it was to get your first novel published after dozens of rejections.

The sheer persistence and self-confidence required is easily underestimated. So many people say they're going to write a novel, but they never do.

The same applies to anyone who's done something spectacular or sensational. More and more I appreciate the hinterland of sheer hard work and application and single-mindedness that made that thing possible.

I was thinking all this I watched some of the astonishing Olympics coverage, and I was very conscious of the years and years of training and tenacity that underlie those stunning feats. Utterly mind-boggling.

Inside out

People say that if you've been married to someone for many years you know them inside out. You know how they'll react to any given situation, you know the thoughts that are running through their head, you know all their deepest secrets, you know what goes on under the public facade.

If you don't know the person that well, there's something a bit wrong with you. You're not really compatible, you're not in tune with each other.

Well, that degree of familiarity may be true of some people, but it certainly isn't true of Jenny and me. I can't be sure of her reactions, I don't always know what she's thinking, I doubt if I know her deepest secrets, and I don't always know what's behind the public persona.

That's not because we aren't compatible, it's simply because we're very different people and we're constantly surprised by each other.

So what's wrong with being surprised by each other? It makes life more interesting. It means we have complex characters that always leave more to be explored and understood.

And does anyone really know their partner inside out? They might think they do, but we all have parts of our personality that we keep to ourselves, however upfront and candid we might seem to be.

How often do you hear people say that something their partner has done or said seems quite out of character, a bolt from the blue? So they didn't know their partner so well after all.

I'd like to know Jenny inside out, but is it actually possible?

Moaning and groaning

As yet I haven't morphed into the typical grumpy old man. I still look on the bright side and take problems in my stride rather than moaning about them.

I haven't yet become "Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells", firing off angry letters to the media and haranguing everyone with my complaints about the bus service, litter louts, too much sex and violence on TV or the price of marmalade.

All that would do is turn me into a sour, bitter individual who takes no pleasure in life and just spoils other people's enjoyment.

I make a point of focusing on the positive things and working around the negatives rather than dwelling on them. There's little I can do about the price of marmalade or erratic buses so why bang on about such things?

I've worked with people who habitually moaned about everything in sight, and it's very tedious. Even if you suggest a more positive way of looking at life, they don't want to know. They're locked into a nothing's-good-enough mindset.

If I encounter something that makes no sense to me, my first reaction isn't complaint but curiosity. I want to know what underlies this oddity, what it's all about.

It's easy to get caught up in all the knee-jerk vilification that pours out of the media and not take a step back and look at things more thoughtfully.

Apart from anything else, incessant grumbling is exhausting. All that rage and condemnation takes it out of you. I'm all for an easy life.