Tomorrow will be
the seventieth anniversary of my birth. Seventy! Imagine. Years ago, when
things likes pensions and life insurances had to be thought about, I was quite
certain that I would never make it so far. I and my high-octane personality.
Placid is gooooood. So, yes, I paid into nothing, made no provisions for the hairless,
toothless, bespectacled and deafish years and achieved everything I had wanted to by
forty-something.
And now – and I
don’t know whether to say ‘dammit’ or ‘hoorah’ – I have made it. So ….
What does one want
at seventy and beyond? Well, number one is definitely health. Number two?
Friends. Dear Friends. Close, closest and not even so close. Three, obviously
enough money to live on. Four, a comfy place to live. Yes, comfy. Not posh or
flash, not filled with bits of the family’s and late spouse’s stuff, just
‘comfy’. Five – which should maybe be one! – some kind of work to keep your
brain enquiring, investigative, busy, anticipatory. Something to get up for in
the morning.
So where am I, at
the start of this unexpected decade?
(1) Health. Not
too bad. I had a stroke five years ago. But apart from slowing me down a lot
and crippling my right hand (can’t do 55 wpm or handwrite any more), I think
I’m fair for my age. Unexpectedly, after having been a skinny boy all my life,
I’m getting a pot-belly. OK, too much booze and not enough exercise. I know.
Periodically, I try. Not for the aesthetic, couldn’t care less about that (vide
my clothes!), but for the energy, yes, the health.
(2) Friends. I
suppose I should have said ‘friends and family’ but I haven’t much family. One
dearly wonderful brother in England (take a bow, John Gallas) and one loved
cousin whom I haven’t seen in too long (your turn, Nerole Williams).
Friends?
Well, since I was widowered, there are two people who have been and are
all-important to me. Wendy (NZ) and Paul (Aus/Ger). They make my life happily, nay
joyously, liveable. And, well, they take care of me, too. Without either one of
them, I might not have had the will to hit up a 70 score. And all you other
guys and gals behind them … thank you for your real and lasting friendship.
(3) Money. The
kindness of others. Bless them. And I think I’ll be OK, if the world’s money
men don’t wreck the value of everything once more with their plots and games. I
remember the farthing. And when 1,000 a year was enough to live on. Makes my 71
pounds a week pension look pathetic, though, in 2016. Fingers crossed.
(4) ‘Home’. I’ve
always been a ‘mover’. England, France, Germany, New Zealand, Australia … never
anywhere for long, in recent years. Well, this year, for the first time, I’m
not coming back to Europe, from the lovely Gerolstein down-under farm, for the
summer. SCHENGEN says I’m not Syrian or Turk, therefore I can’t stay in Europe
for more than 12 weeks pa. So I looked elsewhere. And I found it. Yamba-sur-mer,
NSW, here, in a few weeks, I come. A delightful, tiny seaside flat… yes! That
seems like a 70 year-old’s ideal!
(5) Except on the
rare mornings when I have a hangover, I’m at my typewriter by 8.30am. And for
most of the day. And mostly … yes, still writing. Or answering the queries
which still come to me on my area of expertise, from round the world. My life
is still filled with the minutiae of music and theatre, and I’m compiling a
vast database of the lives and careers of VICTORIAN VOCALISTS. Love it.
So. That’s me. I
approach the unexpected decade with hope that all five categories of Life’s
Necessities will be kind to me.
And you all, too.
Hello Kurt! A happy birthday to you!! I hope to meet this young 70 years old boy at least somewhere this year!!! You see I am still following you! Big Hug from big John!
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