A WALK ROUND THE PARK AND OTHER DOINGS...

Actually we were walking along the river bank in South Holland Lincolnshire. Rather wild and lovely. How we’d all like to describe ourselves - right? Go on then - do it!

Skegness beach. Nothing beats it in my honest opinion. For those who've never been - get yourselves over here. We sort of tip over into The Wash. A magnificent sea with some magnificent seaviews.

Rightio Lilliputs - you wait all day for a bus and two come along at once.  A bit like this blog. 

Here I go again - re-hashing my old ‘beefs’.  You have children? But they don’t bother about you as you age?  That is fair enough but then - but then - they bother ‘a bit’.  They’re there - at least?  They are ‘there’ albeit a distant ‘there’. On the end of phone or zoom?  There, then.  I drone on about those kids/family that are not there - just- not there. No flippin’ one! Ageing Without Children and its meaning, its impact, its potential social isolation (for much can depend on geography) can be devastating for many. 

Keep watering it down to bring in ‘a bit isolated’ or ‘sometimes’ means ‘not isolated’ then?  That’s good though - isn’t it - for those just a ‘bit’ isolated? 

Ageing Without Children and its loneliness, its ’othering’ as Jody calls it can have devastating results.  I speak for myself here but dammit, I speak for many of us. 

Let me tell you about my days - me and Lilley - old now and one of us not a little decrepit.  You find that small things and actions can brighten one’s day to the extent that a smile, a brief chat as we progress round the park on her walk,  an acknowledgment that one of us is human and not a programmed, elderly robot can turn just another day into a brief glow fest.  Honestly it truly can.   

Let me take today as an example - there we were strolling round our favourite - Weston Fields, Weston, South Lincolnshire - when a very photogenic, teeny, black poodle appeared in front of us.  Its owner, like me, shuffled slowly to catch up.  We let the doggies have playtime whilst we chatted - about hospitals and health - obviously.  What do you think old people chat about? President Trump? I tell you what he’s been mentioned and often in a good way. It’s probably the oldie thing - preferring what the Americans have to our colourless crew.  Politics Trish! Naughty…

Weren't expecting that sort of shot were you? No neither was I when I asked the very nice AI lady to 'put us on a beach scene'. And here we are. It could be true couldn't it? Me and her - we could be idling away our time in our own little beach bungalow. Time to dream, Trish, time to dream...

Pretend it's Skegness OK?

Back in the room and the dogs returned to owners. Panting and sated from a run round the field.  Oh I do love it and funny thing is, my chatting companion and I from the Fields, both spoke  of how easily pleased we have become as we’ve aged.  Like her and her doggie dash, me and my inane chat - you take what you can get when you age. ‘Specially if also alone. As we strolled round the fields I thought about how long I’ve got left. Yes, I know - depressing and all - but you get to my age and attempt to mind-brake the images tumbling in. 

I don’t care. No - I don’t care. Let ‘em tumble in. I’m ready to defend and bat back.  

Except I’m not - always.  If I could only get clarity on my ‘beliefs’ so-called.  At my stupid age eh?  What a daunting prospect.  Keen but nervous of attending a relevant service.  I know there was a police presence or some sort of protection at synagogues.  How dreadful that we must now do that.  In our great country of Britain.  I’m sorry but it is.  Doesn’t scare me.  The only thing that scares me is me and my shyness at entering my nearest place of worship.  

See, I’ve started to read my book of ‘learning’ about the subject matter and I’m such an old dork.  I don’t know if I want to be old and alone?  I want to be where some of my family roots were. And that’s where some of them were.   But heck and sugaroo I’m scared.  They’re clever people and I’m not. 

My mother stopped all this. There - I said it. My father and my grandmother tried to tell me ‘something’  when I was around aged eleven.  My father even said to me ‘of course - you know you’re Jewish?’  I guess I looked gormless at him. What else could I look ‘til my mother flew in from the kitchen ‘shut up Alan. Shut up. She doesn’t want to know’.  So was it her side? Pop, her father my grandfather?  My Dad was the one who always spoke of his ‘roots’. I sit here and know nowt. Because, once again, dear Mummy and what the neighbours’ thought. 

‘She does need to know Jean’.  

But she flew at him threatening with  a pan. And I can remember all of it like yesterday.  And other strange ‘stuff’. 

It must have been my maternal grandfather,  - Laurence -  with his mysterious, very dark and handsome brother called Israel who lived in the States, apparently . Mysterious background but a wonderful man - Pop, my grandfather. 

But - here’s my mother - again: 

‘We don’t know much about Pop do we?’ For he’d insisted they both be called Nana and Pop.  She knew. But refused to say. What a damn silly woman she could be.  Wiped out any of my possible ancestry. . Such as it was.   I’ll assume it could only be because of the potential Jewish connection.  From him - Pop.  Possibly my Dad also? He was the one who joked about it. 

Aside: To save anyone asking I did use a couple ‘ancestry experts’ some time back. What a boring, inane little background I had, apparently. Probably did (not according to my Dad and my Pop) and that would be absolutely fine. Apart from my Granddad’s brother plus my Dad. The ancestry lark went nowhere by the way.  Too long a tale. Another time. 

One of my dear, departed Aunties tried to tell me once  but was closed down by ‘someone’ before she could get to the hub.  Why? It’s not a crime to have a certain heritage. If that's what it is and so what? Goodness I’d be perfectly good with it. If I knew.  

That’s half the story, by the way. Other half to come.  It’s not great at my age. This…

We will have been walking along some remote, sea shore in our part of Lincolnshire. It's all very Fenland as its called or South Holland. They do grow a lot of tulips and daffodils so the fields are glorious when the flowers sprout. The flatlands of Lincolnshire and I love it. A little aside - did you know we had film star Rob Lowe filming round these parts a year or so back? A pleasant little detective series set amongst the mysterious Fen. It only ran for one series which was disappointing. I'll assume Mr Lowe didn't like the scenery much? He mixed amongst the locals very well, apparently. But the East Coast beach is fabulous!

I’m wiffle waffling and - let me say this - if my certain ‘religious’ reference makes you angry or upset I can’t apologise.  Can I?  See - I wanted to keep you updated but perhaps you’re not interested?  And see here - I have very few relatives and am trying to acclimatise myself to dying alone.  

Thank you Trish you’ve lit up the room and then sodded off leaving the lights ‘gone out’ whilst folk are trying to make head, or maybe tails,  out of my wiffle waffle.  

I’m struggling (and G*d knows I’m struggling) to make head or maybe even a tail or three out of my own waffle.  Blame this - attempting to sit comfortably on the little sofa I leaned back whilst the collapsible sofa seat bent inwards.  Smack onto her head so she leapt out of the way onto the end sofa bit where I was just about to lean back into, as was. I panicked, tried to avoid her, fell onto the floor and Lilley shot back on the sofa seat which didn’t help to be honest. I’d really hurt my hand. She was frozen with fear as she convinced herself it was HER fault.  It was  but I wouldn’t let her know.  MY hand hurt and now my back hurt.  Oh Lilley - look what you’ve done?  Not Lilley. Never Lilley. My fault entirely. Little soul looked terrified she’d really hurt me by bouncing off the sofa into my line of flight.  She hadn’t and it wouldn’t have mattered but I do worry about her reaction. She’s never been smacked and never will be.  Her little face was so concerned getting herself more anxious about me.  I didn’t know how to console her. They’re like babies aren’t they - you animal owners out there? 

‘Mummy’s hurt and is it my fault?’  

No Lilley it’s all my fault, God bless you.  Just a clumsy, slow old fool.  

Can I drift back to our walkies fields again?  Here’s the thing - a very ‘being honest’ thing but not a good look for me - thing.  I sort of prefer it when there’s no kiddies there. Oh Lordy I said it. They’re ever so good and love playing on the zip wire thingies round the park, but they’re bloomin’ noisy. Shouty.  Were we? Shouty?  Were we shouty?  Maybe discuss.  Actually they're lovely kids, mostly, roundabouts. No - they are -

So look -  we’re going now.  Being childless hasn’t got easier as I’ve aged - by the way.  So you know.  I find people to be generally kind and helpful roundabouts.  Also what I find is that ageing is mostly considered to be a person in need.  Of help, kindness and polite respect. 

That’ll do for me.   I’ll take what crumbs I can get tbh. 

Ageing and childless is many things but a walk in the park it ain’t.  So you young’uns know.  Unless it’s our park. The one here.

Hey oop our Kid! Is what we say up North. Weren't expecting that were you? Me and her looking all swiish and that. Make your own minds up - was it real? Or was it my friend Dola - again

I’m going to finish on this - unpleasant and dishonest, albeit - unkind. 

The other day my heating went off. Not a clue what to do I phoned my supplier EMGB. Who sent an ‘engineer’ out (no longer a ‘plumber’. Not sufficiently posh so engineer it is). Who marched in, never spoke apart from ‘where is it?’ fiddled about whilst permanently laughing into his speakerphone thingie. Gas people company took over £300 from my account without informing me and within 20 minutes he left. Ignorant s*d but still - heating back on - hurray.  For about an hour then off again.  I couldn’t be bothered to go through the two dozen layers of ‘press 1,2,3,4 etc buttons’ to reach the finish line, so phoned a private plumber. Who arrived several hours later as he had other jobs before mine. When he finally arrived he was pleasant  and Informative. explained what he was doing and (fingers crossed) sorted it.  By now it was past midnight. I was exhausted and a tad ill feeling. After all of ‘this’.  I don’t know if I can go on. I’m so tired of it all. Tired of living an elderly life with its endless battles. Somebody out there - in case you’re‘ ‘listening’ - give it a rest, do.     

My private conversation- I say conversation - it’s more like a Mafioso horse’s head in the bed.  (Remember that scene from The Godfather? Yeah well - just sayin’ alright? ) So sorry - went a bit deep into my Marlon Brando then.  

Apologies dear readers.  A private conversation between me and some silly people.  If I sound like Capone then good. More like Sgt Dixon of The Yard?  I used to adore that show. In fact I adored most of ‘yester years’ entertainment. TV I’m talking about.  Barely watch it now.  I wouldn’t call it rubbish exactly but majority of it not for me. Me, at age 77, won’t be TV’s target audience.  And yet I’m the age group that pays the licence fee so you’d think wouldn’t you?  But they go chasing the yoof and the yoof give a flying f*rt.  If in business where they had to turn a profit they’d be up swannee without a paddle. Those posh types sitting on boards in our national tv channel’s boardroom. 

Still, I watch it. Tell you what, mind  - loving the Winter Olympics.   Fab u lous.  The best ever. But then I love sport and always have.  Just wish I could ‘do it’.  But I’ve had my moments so that’ll do for me! 

On I twaddle. What am I on about?  

I’ll go …

Bye bye lovely people out there. Think of us sometimes won’t you? Me and her on our settee staring at a wall or a tv screen.  We don’t mind - it’s our meditation moment. 

Always thinking of you dear Lilleys’ (hope you don’t mind me calling you that. An affectionate way of saying thank you).  

We’ll be back.  We’ll be back with more inane waffle and piffle. 

Here she is - my hope and glory. When I talk of 'arguing' we actually do have rows. She goes truculent and shouts at me. Sometimes I think the BBC should know about me and her. We'd do well on one of their racoco comedies.

We know we need to modernise up by doing Tikky Tokky stuff.  Do your tikky toffy Lilley - you know - your hind leg waddle. Yes now!  She balances for precisely three seconds on her back legs before collapsing onto a flattened heap. Go on then…

We won’t be  performing like other Tikky Tokkers. Toffers? We’re a bit naff. I say ‘a bit’. 

Dear G*d I sound like my dear departed grandmother except she had more sense. 

Go now whilst a semblance of brain cell exists. 

Bye then 👋

Hang on - before you go - an add on. Have you all got a Will? I have a Will but not sure if I need to change it. It’s the AWOC thing again.  I’m not organised.  Sort thyself woman. Sort … might  I be allowed to use the eff word?  Then another one came in with a comment about being elderly at 55.  Good grief and Lordy-ducks - if you’re old at aged 55 nowadays what the eff am I?  A reconstituted monument brought to life? 

I’m 77 years of age. I can’t seem to make folk believe me. ‘ No you’re not’ is hardly an answer is it?!  Yes I bloody am and I am totally alone.  When I was ten years younger my life and its ‘parts’ was massively different to now.  You age at a hell of a different rate at this end of the age scale.  Just warning you. Even five years older can seem like a dozen more.  

‘Only 72? Grief - nobbut a young’un our Kid’. 

(Translation for our friends across various waters - ‘Goodness. You are still a young person my dear child’. 

Then again and back to we Brits -  ‘77 you say? Yep. That’s old’). 

And another thing - just now on X (many of you don’t like that platform. I know..) a lady wrote of her loneliness at aged 80.  Her post read like she was on her own with no one. So, I thought - I’ll reply to her. Maybe get a bit of conversation going.  Just preparing my response when she posted again saying ‘her son had just arrived to check on her.  She was so pleased to see him as she hadn’t spoken to anyone all day’.   This was Canada somewhere therein . 

I give up …do you see non-childless  people?  

Any of you happen to be reading this and bemoaning your child’s tardiness - get a bl**dy grip. 

They really have no flippin’ idea, have they? 

Love you all

What do you think of that, then? Elizabeth 1st lives! I think i might have to have this framed. Then I thought - but who will see it? No one really. Not many, anyway...

Another one coming soon...

Bye! Bye bye!