The age thing again

I was on my Gestalt course yesterday morning and very interesting it was too, the theme being psychopathology and how different mental health illnesses fit into the interruptions to contact on the cycle of experience. That isn't really relevant to this post but I just wanted to make it clear that we don't just sit around navel gazing, just in case you thought we did.
At one point, our tutor mentioned a student on one of her other courses who started his counselling training at the age of 62 and is now a very good counsellor. This is one of the things I like about the world of counselling; one's age is not seen as a barrier to training or practising as a counsellor so I was a little startled to hear V. refer to this gentleman as an 'old age pensioner.'
Apart from the fact that it now has an old-fashioned ring to it and conjures up visions of little old men and women with fluffy white hair shuffling around on zimmer frames or with walking sticks, I feel that I am uncomfortably close to the possibility of being classified as such (I have been invited to apply for my state pension, after all) and I just don't like it!
"Could you re-phrase that, please, V?" I asked. "Could he be called a senior citizen?"
"Well, if you like," she laughed, but he's a couple of years younger than me."
(This from a woman who still works full time, loves every minute and has more energy and enthusiasm than many people half her age.)
The rest of the group, being well aware of my hang-ups on the subject of age, tittered.
"Maybe you need some counselling," suggested one.

Lost your Decree Absolute?

Yes, although I am normally paranoid about keeping official papers safe and properly filed (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - most teachers have it), I appear to have mislaid my decree absolute. I have practically torn the place apart looking for it but to no avail.
I received an invitation from the Pension Service to apply for my state pension last week. Apparently, you don't just get it any more, you have to apply for it and also consider whether you would like to delay applying for it, which presumably saves the government money as there is a greater likelihood of your sudden demise before you have chance to take advantage of it. Anyway, this isn't really a digression because one of the documents they require from divorced persons is the decree absolute.
However, further perusal revealed that it is possible to do the application over the phone so, I reasoned, if I do that, they won't want me to send them my decree absolute. Result!
Wrong. I did think I had got away with it, as my 15 minute telephone conversation drew to a close and the nice man told me that I would get an acknowledgement through the post that my application had been processed.
I got the letter and guess what? "Could you please send us your decree absolute" it said.
"B*******!" I said.
Having turned to the internet, I learned that I could send for a replacement for the princely sum of £65 plus VAT!!!! Not good.
However, I eventually discovered that, by contacting the court where it was originally issued, as long as I have the reference (I have) and the divorce was less than 5 years ago (it was), I can get a replacement for .....wait for it..... £5.
Now that's more like it!

Walking in the morning

Feeling fairly energetic and awake early this morning, I thought my current fitness regime would probably benefit from a walk before it gets too hot and I get too bogged down with other things, so off I went at 6.30. It was, and still is, a beautiful late Spring morning, not a breath of wind stirring the leaves, a faint mist on the lake in the valley and birds singing joyously.

The mallards were still snoozing, until I arrived

on the scene, and then they started huffing and

puffing and generally complaining about being

woken up.

And then I saw this, which seems to be a Muscovy Duck. He was awake already, but wouldn't let me get too close, so the photo (taken on my phone) is not very good.

A lovely day

We had two ports of call yesterday, Keith and I - both in Sheffield.

Our first one was exciting. I was going to meet the famous Yorkshire Pudding, he of Blogger fame! Yes, really! YP has written his account of our meeting on his blog, and you may want to pop over there to check it out first before reading on.

Isn't it strange how two people can have such different experiences of a meeting! This is how the conversation went as recorded on my secret tape recorder...

As we pulled into the car park of The Sportsman, I recognised YP straight away. Brief introductions followed and we sat down to our drinks.

YP: Eh up then.

Keith: Bora da. (And to Shirley) Bora da, cariad!

Me: Eh up tha sen, lad. (Not for nothing am I a regular watcher of Emmerdale! I can speak the lingo like a native!)

YP: Eeh, by the 'eck, it's reet hot the day, lass.

Me: Is it eckaslike! It's nobbut a middlin' fair day. Tha dusn't know what heat is, lad! Tha should come ovver ter Wales, lad. Happen tha might get a bit of a suntan then.

(Keith subsides into silence - he doesn't speak Yorkshire.)

YP: Eeeeeh, nay, lass. I know reet well what tha gets up to in Wales - with t' sheep an' all...

(A suggestive silence follows.)

(Keith, recognising the word 'sheep' comes out of his reverie.)

Keith: A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, isnit?

Shirley: And what might that be, then?

YP. (Placing his hands over her ears.) Hush tha mouth, lass, tha's 'ad a sheltered upbringing. Tha doesna need to know.

As you can see, YP's fanciful account is far removed from my 100% accurate one, but there you are.

To be serious though, Keith and I really enjoyed meeting YP and his wife, Shirley and we were made very welcome. The only problem really was that salad was off the menu, and that, as you can imagine, was indescribably disappointing for Keith. He had to make do with a large mixed grill instead. YP, equally disappointed, made do with a curry. So, eventually, as YP has recorded, he and Shirley went off to buy tomato plants and Keith and I continued on to our second venue of the day, which was the home of Elder Daughter, who was celebrating her birthday (a special one with a zero in it) with a barbecue. We had a lovely afternoon with her and her friends and I tried to get used to having a daughter who had now reached that special age, which was quite difficult really, as it doesn't seem long since she was new to the world.

Keith took a photo of ED and me but ED has put the blocks on that and refused to give me permission to post it, so I can only show you a picture of her garden and the fantastic views of Sheffield from her house.

Babyboomers are go!

Take a look at this from the online Daily Telegraph today. Viagra is the most widely dispensed medication on Saga cruises. OK, just stop sniggering there at the back. Aside from the widely publicised medical risks for anyone with high blood pressure or heart problems taking Viagra, this story perhaps illustrates the outlook of a generation who grew up in such a rapidly changing world after the somewhat staid post-war fifties. We are the generation who broke the mould in many ways, as we were the ones who were launching ourselves on an unsuspecting society in the magic sixties. This was the age of the 'Pill' which, in itself, heralded fundamental changes in attitude and morality. Granted, the much trumpeted 'Swinging Sixties' complete with drugs, free sex and continuous partying was perhaps more in the mind than in reality throughout much of the country, but changes were afoot. For women, particularly, there were choices available in their lives and certainly, the argument can be made that these choices were the forerunner of women trying to 'have it all' and ending up exhausted and unfulfilled but at least they were no longer expected to assume the role of the little woman at home. We are the ones who have consistently pushed back the age boundaries over the years. 'Fifty is the new forty' soon became 'sixty is the new fifty' and we'll keep on doing it.
We refused to disappear into the invisibility of grey-haired middle age, we'll keep dying our hair, sporting our jeans and being just as outrageous as we want to be and we'll keep on doing it into the old age that we refuse to acknowledge.
And when the unthinkable does catch up with us, we'll be the ones organising chariot races in our wheelchairs - so there!

Early summer?

"Summer is here!" the weather forecaster proclaims. "Hottest May on record forecast!" say the headlines. The weather for the next few days, that is, the weekend and into next week, mark you, is set to be hot and dry and sunny.
Oh yeah? So would someone like to explain the wet stuff that's falling very forcefully outside chez Jennyta?
Back to the artificial tan, then. :(

Day tripper?

I was on my way to Chester yesterday, bowling along the A843 when, coming in the opposite direction, I spotted a green Routemaster double decker bus and, if the destination board were to be believed, it was on its way to Patchway.

A further coincidence is that Patchway, which is in Bristol, is quite near where I once lived as a child.

So this bus was going along the A483 to Patchway, Bristol. Taking the scenic route, obviously, and it might explain all the long, frustrating hours I spent in my youth waiting for non-appearing buses. They were late because they had gone via the A483!