It was only when I whipped off my (slightly too small) hotel bathrobe today that I realised how long it has been since I was naked in the presence of anyone other than my husband. And I think he’d have some difficulty remembering when that was either! Anyhow, the torso I usually keep so well covered, was unveiled for only a few seconds before I hopped onto the bed, next to which the pretty young Turkish girl was waiting patiently. Yep. Was having a massage. After a few gloriously relaxing (and aromatic) minutes of gentle pummelling, I was almost asleep – despite the damned whale music. I may even have been snoring and was well past worrying what she must be thinking about my spare tyres, those roadmap veins on my thighs, or the rather tarty sparkly blue polish on my toenails. I’m never that happy on the beach either – once I have selected the remotest sunbed, I sit down and when I’m sure no-one’s looking, gingerly peel off whatever cover up I’m wearing. What happened to those days when I would stand on a crowded beach in a teeny weeny itsy bitsy bikini? When my mid section was allowed to see the sun and get tanned along with the rest of me? These days, only my arms and legs get bronzed – the rest stays a pallid, candlewax white under my tummy controlling, bust uplifting, wide strapped swimsuit. Ageing … Dontcha just love it?!
Up to my eyes in ironing (what’s new) and wanted a five minute break. As I am irresistably drawn to my computer at times like these, the five minute break turned into two and a half hours. Well, had to check/answer emails, refresh blog stats, tweet on Twitter, faff about on Facebook, Google “is ironing absolutely essential for a fulfilling life?”, peep at the texts on my mobile, and check the landline to see if anyone had left an ansafone message. Actually, just as I had finished my virtual/social/ether exploration, I started to think that all this media overload is starting to get on my nerves a tiny little bit. Then husband arrived home bearing gifts…an iPad! So generous, so thoughtful and yet I am wondering how much more tekky I can get. Ah well, I can blame my generous wonderful man if the ironing doesn’t get done from now on!
I aspire to being one of those super cool older people – you know, like Marianne Faithfull, her Mars bar companion Sir Mick, Helen Mirren (who thankfully is known for her acting these days, not her jugs), Viv Westwood (still in perilously high heels in her 70s), Twiggy or Dame Judy. All different types, but all sooooooo cool. Each of them have their own style and none of them have turned into full time grown ups, all still retain an insouciant air of youthfulness, as well as an air of authority and experience. Rather naughty experience at that and good for them.
As my (rather frighteningly large) birthday looms closer each day, I am starting to wonder how I should spend this momentous day of my life. As my husband is nine years younger than me and most of our friends are also comparatively childlike, it makes it even harder for me to admit to being …..s……go on, say it, si…..go on, go on….sixteen…don’t be silly now….ok, f**k it, SIXTY, SIXTY, SIXTY! There. I’ve finally said it. Some of them will be surprised I’m quite so ancient when/if they find out. They may start to look at me differently if they know exactly how old I really am – slightly pitying looks perhaps, walking alongside me more slowly so my old legs can keep up with their fresher, younger ones or they may exclude me from their invitations in case I start eyeing them up as potential carers. Do I want to actually celebrate the fact that I am old? Not sure I think there’s much to celebrate, although Dame Joan Bakewell thinks old age is pretty fab.
Next step. Decide how best to cope with the day when it arrives in July.
Celebrate with friends perhaps? An intimate dinner party? But who to invite and who to leave out? Too tricky. Just like our wedding invitation list all over again.
Perhaps I should do something I’ve always wanted to do – visit Japan, see the northern lights, hop on an operating table for some much needed plastic surgery?
Or simply stay at home and pretend it isn’t my birthday? That’s what I did last year on my 59th: I woke up in a blue funk which didn’t dissipate until the late afternoon – putting the kybosh on all my husband’s well-laid plans. I can’t let him down like that again.
OK, decision time. As I am lucky enough to being jetting off for some r&r next week, I think I will decide what to do on my birthday from the supreme comfort of a sun lounger. Ah, feel better about it already. Procrastination is king!
Yep. Have over indulged, gorged, pigged out on chocolate. And milk chocolate at that. Not the dark 70% good for your brain and libido type chocolate. The kind that has moreish chemicals firmly implanted in its velvety smooth midst. I simply cannot stop myself. It’s there, so I’ll stuff it in my mouth. The worst of it is that I didn’t even receive an Easter egg myself this year – I’ve been munching on the ones we presented to our 19 year old. He’d rather eat savoury, so sits bemused as he watches his mother dip her greedy fingers into the ever shrinking dome shaped cocoa shell. Can’t work out which is worse – the massive useless calorie intake or the fact I’m stealing my son’s gifts. In future, I’m going to stick to admiring Faberge eggs, not Thorntons.
We all know that a good night’s sleep is essential for your sanity, health and general well being. However, if you are like me and have Mr. Noisy lying next to you, those nights of sleeping through for a blissfully unbroken eight hours are a distant dream. Anyhow, I’m a great one for saying that I don’t want to bang on about a problem, just find a solution. So here are my tips for waking refreshed.
GENTLE EXERCISE AIDS SLEEP. That shouldn’t be an issue. After twenty years of marriage we rarely do anything strenuous at bedtime. We do play push-me-pull-you with the duvet, so I suppose that counts as light exercise.
LIGHT IS IMPORTANT – DARKNESS HELPS YOU SLEEP That’s OK then as husband goes to bed before me and I have to stumble about in the pitch blackness.
LEAVING A CHINK IN THE CURTAINS ALLOWS THE DAWN LIGHT TO PENETRATE THEREBY RESETTING YOUR BIOLOGICAL CLOCK. Don’t need to do this as husband gets up earlier than me and stomps around until he’s absolutely sure he’s woken me up.
HIGH TEMPERATURES DISTURB SLEEP I can’t remember the last time he got me hot and bothered.
ENJOY A HOT SHOWER OR BATH BEFORE BED – THIS HELPS THE BODY RELEASE HEAT WHICH AIDS SLEEP No need for warm water, my hot flushes do the same job.
AVOID EATING TWO HOURS BEFORE YOU GO TO BED: Damn. No more secret late night fridge raids then.
POWER NAP DURING THE DAY Easy peasy. I’m often to be found fast asleep slumped over the ironing board around 5pm, but that could just be boredom and the Sauvignon Blanc.