Blissful ignorance

When I was young I seldom gave any thought to the possibility of old age and all it implied. I lived in a self-absorbed juvenile bubble, aware only of my youthful vitality and my still coalescing personality.

When we visited my mother's parents, all I took in was that they were old. I thought very little about what that entailed. I was aware that granny had a bad back and some arthritis but that was about it. Most of her life was a complete mystery to me, likewise grandpa's.

Of course one reason I thought so little about old age was that for most people in those days old age didn't last very long. The generally-observed retirement age was 65 and most people only lived for a few years after retiring. Because of that they were less likely to develop the multitude of medical problems that afflict so many of today's oldies. So if I ever thought about old people's health, I assumed they were physically fit rather than frail and decrepit.

I think it's also the case that youngsters, if they think of old age at all, simply don't want to know that one day they might be old and enfeebled, so they try not to think about what's coming down the line. They tell themselves that they'll never get old, or they'll die before they reach old age, or that all the infirmities of old age might happen to others but not themselves.

I was convinced at one time that I wouldn't live very long and would thus avoid old age altogether. In my twenties, I was quite sure I wouldn't reach 30, and was rather surprised when I did. I also thought I might die at 70, as my father did, but that never happened either.

Not really poor

Linda Tirado of Washington DC, who had known a period of grinding poverty, wrote a piece for a website about what it's like being poor. The piece went viral and as usually happens, people started attacking her left right and centre.

And what were they attacking her for? For explaining poverty to people who were well-off and had no idea what it was really like. For telling people that poverty was real and not something invented by scrounging layabouts, journalists and lefties.

Of course they didn't say that. They just claimed she was never really poor because she came from a middle-class family. Or she wasn't really poor because it was only for a few years. Or she wasn't really poor because her wages were enough to live on.

They simply couldn't accept that someone can be genuinely poor, genuinely struggling to make ends meet, genuinely unable to get her rotten teeth or her clapped-out car fixed. They were convinced she was making it all up or wildly exaggerating.

As she puts it herself: "In America we have this myth that if you deserve it, you will have it. We're afraid to look at our downtrodden because it undercuts that myth. There is a fear of the poor that is uniquely American. It's especially hard to look at someone who could be one of their kids - someone like me who's white and intelligent - and see them as poor."

People lucky enough to have a good income and a comfortable life don't want to think about those who have neither. It makes them feel guilty, anxious, scared, vulnerable. They shy away from the possibility that a run of bad luck or some personal misfortune could see them sinking into poverty themselves.

The irony of Linda Tirado's story is that because of the huge readership her internet piece attracted she was able to raise over $60,000 to turn it into a book and quit her job as a night cook. She hasn't had her teeth fixed yet but she's using a better brand of shampoo.

Pic: Linda Tirado

Ostrich tendency

It's hard not to feel depressed by the exceptionally sorry state of the world. Just about anywhere you live, the prospects right now are pretty bleak. The world is like a large bear licking its wounds after some unexpected attack, and hoping tomorrow will be an improvement.

The relentlessly doom-laden headlines about economic ruin make me want to turn and run for the hills, or bury my head in the sand, ostrich-like*. I feel like chucking out the TV, not reading the newspapers, and generally shutting out the rest of the world until things start to get better.

I feel like narrowing my attention to my own little microcosm of friends and loved ones, making sure they're safe and sound, getting whatever pleasure I can and doing my best to preserve my sanity.

The problem is that we've all got used to expensive and comfortable lifestyles that rely on sizeable salaries, affordable outgoings and plenty of jobs. As soon as the world's economies go pear-shaped and all those underpinnings look precarious, life gets very scary indeed.

Sometimes I think those religious hermits who spent their lives in a Himalayan cave, devoting their days to meditation and contemplating the snowy peaks, needing nothing more than a few modest gifts from their admirers, had the right idea.

They never had to worry about the imminent collapse of the banking system, or the price of electricity, or government borrowing, or loopy politicians. They just sat there serenely in the lotus position, pondering the sound of one hand clapping, and smiling benignly as their latest visitor cringed at plummeting share prices on their iPhone.

So let me know when the world is back on track. In the meantime, I'll turn off my mind, relax and float downstream.

* In reality of course ostriches never bury their head in the sand. If they did, they'd suffocate.

Poor kids

Some things are just seen as too depressing and upsetting to dwell on. Okay, mention them briefly if you must so we know about them, but then push them away quickly into a dark corner while we focus on something more cheerful.

The number of children living in poverty is one such dreary scenario. Yes, 3½ million British children don't have enough food, clothes, toys, holidays at the seaside, or a dry and warm place to live.

They're miserable for years on end. They feel permanently disheartened and constricted by their living conditions. Telling their schoolmates what their home is like is humiliating. They can't see any way of improving things. They hate the wealthy families who take for granted they can have virtually anything they want. One in six of them have considered suicide.

Yet the rest of us tend to ignore them. Very sad, of course, terrible that in a so-called advanced country like the UK so many children are trapped in such dreadful conditions. But there's little you and I can do about it, it's up to the politicians to put it right and why don't they? There's no point in rubbing our noses in it every day, it just makes us squirm.

It's odd though that while poverty-stricken kids are swept out of sight, children who go missing or are violently attacked get huge headlines day after day. Why do these tragedies grip us so unshakeably yet the tragedy of poverty doesn't? Why has Madeleine McCann had such colossal coverage while little Tracey in her worn-out shoes and threadbare coat gets barely a mention?

Poverty is still treated the way cancer used to be. It's too awful to contemplate. And it might be contagious. Take it away quickly, it's putting me off my cornflakes.

I see no sickness

We all know men have shorter lifespans than women. But why? One reason is that men put off going to the doctor if they have an unusual physical symptom.

They often don't like to admit to weakness, or to needing help, so they ignore the symptom and hope it'll go away. A bit of blood? A strange lump? Probably nothing to worry about.

Frequently it's a woman who pesters the man to seek medical advice and tells him he should take his health seriously.

Dr Marianne Legato, author of "Why Men Die First", says men are told from an early age not to make a fuss but just "suck it up" and get on with life.

Her father died of cancer, partly because he ignored blood-tinged urine for two years before asking questions. Her son is now seriously ill, having delayed getting medical help.

Men are more prone to just about every major, life-threatening illness than women. So they should be more concerned about their health, not less.

My father had a stroke at 55, because he was unaware he had soaring blood pressure and had never thought of getting it checked. Many men still have no idea their blood pressure is way too high.

If I had a serious-looking symptom like blood in my pee or crippling headaches, I would be off to see Dr Julie like a shot. I certainly wouldn't assume it would magically go away and take no notice of it.

Why do men still think it's embarrassing to ask for help? Why do they risk not only dying but leaving grief-stricken partners and children? It's not just stubborn but irresponsible. Wise up, guys, and stop being a slave to masculine "toughness".