Not a curmudgeon

Ten years ago I remarked that although elderly males are commonly depicted as grumpy old men, I had yet to become one and remained the cheerful, easy-going, philosophical person I had always been.

I'm pleased to report that remains the case and I haven't yet degenerated into the sort of surly, abusive curmudgeon people hastily cross the road to avoid.

I don't habitually rage and curse at stupid motorists, hate teenagers and sales assistants, fume at red tape and form-filling, attack dumbing down and falling standards, or despise anything invented in the last 20 years.

I don't accept the mantra that "everything's getting worse", "the country's going to the dogs", "everyone's so selfish nowadays", and all those other pessimistic pronouncements.

On the contrary, there's so much about life today that's inspiring and uplifting and stimulating. The endless possibilities of the internet for getting information, keeping in touch with people, sharing jokes, and looking for tradespeople. The cultural riches of art, music, books and films. All the new ideas and tastes brought by migrants from all over the world. The increasing political awareness of the young, worried about climate breakdown, authoritarian governments and their personal future.

When I'm lucky enough to have all that, why get worked up about a few sullen teenagers, offhand shop assistants or careless motorists? They're wee buns in the grand scheme of things, minor irritations to be noted and forgotten.

My father was one of the "everything's getting worse" brigade, convinced we were all going to hell in a handcart and thankful he wouldn't be alive much longer. I'm glad to say I couldn't agree less with the old misery guts.

Just think, without the internet I would never have met Simon's Cat.

Old curmudgeons

One of the dangers of being such an advanced age is that it's easy to become over-cynical. I can recall so many people who've been a big disappoint-ment, promising so much and delivering so little. Politicians, campaigners, tradespeople, friends and acquaintances, bosses, businesses, you name it. How often they've beguiled me and then let me down.

It's so tempting to be scathing about the whole lot of them. Don't believe anyone's promises, don't be taken in by charming smiles, don't be fooled by glossy advertising, don't be impressed by fancy jargon and slick patter. Don't trust anyone and presume everyone has a hidden agenda they're carefully concealing.

Politicians? They're all feathering their own nests. Bosses? They'll demand hard graft and pay peanuts. Tradespeople? They'll charge exorbitant fees for botched and sub-standard work. So-called friends? They'll turn out to be clingy and super-needy and offer nothing in return.

After being disillusioned once too often, it's easy to become airily dismissive of just about everyone and conveniently forget the many positive experiences I've had. It's easy to become a leery know-it-all who never has a good word for anyone.

I have to keep reminding myself that along with arseholes like Donald Trump and Boris Johnson, there are people with integrity like Jacinda Ardern and Katrin Jakobsdóttir*. Along with the ruthless bosses there are the generous, considerate ones. Along with the burdensome friends there are those I love to have around.

Cynicism is a poison that would rapidly rot my soul if I allowed it to. All too quickly I'd turn into one of those curmudgeonly old codgers who regards the whole world as a conspiracy against his very existence. Even next door's cat is a surly and incontinent beast that wrecks his garden when he's not looking.

Think again. For every scheming bastard there's someone with a heart of gold. You just have to look in the right place.

*Prime Minister of Iceland

Grumpy old men

Males of my age are commonly assumed to turn into grumpy old men. Isn't that what old men do? We're programmed by our Y chromosomes to become universally surly, cantankerous and impossible to deal with.

We're supposed to rage and curse at stupid motorists, hate teenagers and sales assistants, fume at red tape and form-filling, attack dumbing down and falling standards, and despise anything invented in the last twenty years.

Thus the popular TV programme "Grumpy Old Men" in which elderly curmudgeons vent their spleen at everything in sight, complaining that there's nothing left to enjoy and saying they'll be glad when they're six feet under and out of their misery.

Well, I keep waiting for this mysterious overnight transformation in which my habitual good humour turns into bad-tempered misanthropy, but I have to report that it hasn't yet happened. I remain a cheerful, open-minded soul ready to give anything or anyone a fair hearing.

I've nothing against teenagers or sales assistants, I'm all in favour of the internet and mobile phones, I'm very tolerant of careless motorists who're probably shagged out from a demanding job, and every day I'm delighted and fascinated by life's constantly evolving possibilities and wonders. It takes an awful lot to make me seriously grumpy.

Of course in twenty years' time when I'm a decrepit old wreck who can't hear, see or walk, I might have cause to be sullen and generally pissed off with my lot, but right now grumpiness is uncalled-for.

Perhaps grumpy old men should all be put through a sort of detoxification programme, alcoholic style, to dry them out and purge all those nasty toxins from their system. Why glamourise the foul-mouthed old sods?