DYING OF OLD AGE IS NOT MUCH FUN

   Dying of old age is not much fun unless you are lucky enough to have a carer like my Andi. Mind you I can’t claim to be an expert on dying because so far I have never done it any other way.

            But when you are into your nineties as I am you know for certain that you are very much living on the edge. People say things to you like “Are you still driving?” and if you say “Yes,” you can imagine them thinking, Heaven help the rest of us on the roads, when I’m far less likely to cause an accident that the drunk drivers, the speed merchants and the many others you see driving dangerously on our roads.                                     

            That stabbing pain in my one foot. Is that what’s going to finally get me I wonder. No, false alarm, it’s gone away as mysteriously as it came. It’s just Death playing one of it’s preliminary games with me before the final to get me acclimatised to the Big Idea.  I have never been any kind of gymnast in my life so long drops are not my forte.

But I can’t help wondering what it will be like. Will my body go into sudden excruciating spasms or will I just fade away to sleep peacefully forever.

            At a few months short of 92 I can’t complain about my old age because it has really been very kind to me and I haven’t yet got any serious ailments unless you count a memory that forgets what I want to say halfway through the last sentence.

          To get back to Andi, if I reach a CENTURY much of the credit will be owed to her for looking after me so well. To say she is a carer in a million would be a gross under statement. Thanks Andionette Domel for doing such a superb job keeping the Old Boy going to give him every chance of reaching his CENTURY.

         Watch out Death you have some real competition here and Andi is certainly no push over.