It was my birthday last week and it was time for me to enter a new decade in my life. Yes, I’m now in my seventies and I’m not sure how I really feel about it. Anyway I thought I’d have a quick look back at some other milestones in my life just to get things in perspective.
On my 40th birthday, my partner at the time had arranged for me to have a helicopter flight. If I remember correctly it took place at Barton Aerodrome, not far from Manchester’s Trafford Centre. The helicopter was similar to one of those in one of my favourite childhood TV shows, Whirlybirds. It had a big glass bubble cockpit which had no doors, you just entered through an opening in the sides of the bubble.
There were only two passenger seats in the aircraft and there were actually quite a few people waiting to be taken up. As I watched the first trip go up, a young lad was called forward to fly next and as most people were in twos they asked for another singleton to go up next. That of course was me.
The helicopter landed and we ran forward with our heads down towards the helicopter. It was a little bit like the opening sequence of the TV show MASH except that instead of removing wounded soldiers, we were quickly strapped inside the passenger seats. The young lad went next to the pilot and I sat by the entrance opening. The helicopter lifted up and did a few circuits of the airfield including a tight right turn in which I felt that if my seat belt were to come undone, I would plummet out of the cockpit to my death. Anyway, I survived and after about 15 minutes we were back on the ground and the support staff were quickly helping us out and strapping in the next passengers.
When I became 50, I had just met Liz and she took me for a weekend to Barrow where we stayed at a really lovely bed and breakfast place in Barrow at a place called Roa Island.
For my 60th Liz and I had a weekend in Southport, a place I’ve always loved. It has all my favourite things, great bars and restaurants and lots of bookshops. Then we returned home to spend my actual birthday at Ego in Lytham, another of our favourite restaurants.
The problem with being 70 is that my own image of a seventy-year-old is not really compatible with how I actually feel. Inside of course I don’t feel like 70 at all. To be honest, I haven’t actually changed much inside since I was about 19. I think I was about 19 when I became a bus conductor which was an occupation that forced me to confront my crippling shyness. Even today, 50 years later, I’m a quiet man lacking confidence in social situations. I’ve developed ways of dealing with shyness but sometimes I find myself feeling just how I was all those years ago.
Some time ago, and I can’t remember when it was, I went from looking forward to my birthdays to not being interested in them at all. In fact, I even think I’ve gone a little the other way. I don’t hate my birthdays but they worry me as with each one I just get older and older.
I’ve had 70 birthdays now which is quite a considerable number and one thing is certain, I won’t get another 70.
A few years ago I took my birthday off Facebook, I’m not sure why, perhaps I just don’t want people to know I’m so ancient. Perhaps inwardly I’m ashamed of being old but either way, Liz posted birthday wishes on Facebook which meant that removing my birthday was a pretty pointless exercise so I put it back on again.
Some time ago Liz and I joined a social group call Meetup. It’s a way of meeting new people and going to new social occasions. Members who are hosts will organise a night out at a restaurant for instance and anyone who is interested will put their names down to attend. You meet new people, have a bit of a natter and at the very least, have a nice meal.
For my birthday Liz asked Sophie, our local Meetup organiser, to arrange for a night out at a local restaurant called Tiggis and I have to say I was really surprised to find that thirty people attended instead of the six or so I was expecting.
Quite a few people mentioned that it was hard to believe I am actually 70. I suppose when it comes down to it, I’m not in bad shape for my age. Okay my neck gives me a lot of pain as well as my lower back. I can’t stand for long periods but I am alive and breathing. My vision is good and I can walk a fair distance.
Of course, those people who thought I was looking good are seeing me after a month in France where I was swimming or walking every day as well as having a pretty good tan so just lately, I’m looking my absolute best.
My father passed away when he was 72. All his working life he cycled to work and he was a much fitter man than me. I sometimes wonder if I’ll last until 72 but then as Liz reminded me the other day, my mother lived on until she was 93. I reckon I’ll be happy to settle for somewhere in between.
A few years ago, Pete, one of our favourite taxi drivers, got himself a new taxi. He used to have a traditional black hackney cab. Lots of room and easy to get into. The other month he picked us up driving a car which I first thought was a Range Rover. It’s not a Range Rover and the crazy thing is that on the outside it looks pretty big but on the inside it’s actually really small and the last time we used Pete I actually hurt my back trying to squeeze in. Sorry Pete but we’ll be calling someone else next time.
Of course, getting old isn’t all bad news. I’ve got a free bus pass which is quite handy. I can’t say I use it a great deal but travelling on the bus is much more comfortable than Pete’s taxi. (Sorry Pete) Also I am now eligible for those pensioners’ meal deals you sometimes see in pubs.
Number 23 anyone?
Not so long ago we went for Sunday lunch and I noticed the sign for the senior citizens’ meal which was almost half the normal price. Well, I thought, I’ll have some of that. We got in the queue for the carvery and the server handed me my plate. I handed him my ticket; he looked at it then took my plate back and gave me a half size one. Whoa, what’s this about I asked? It turned out that was the reason for the cheap price, it’s a smaller meal for us old age pensioners. That’s all very well but so far, despite being old, I’ve still got the same size stomach and I’ve still got a good appetite. Anyway, the server gave me a really funny look when he saw me going back to my table with this small plate piled about a foot high with roast potatoes, Yorkshire pud, mash, carrots and sprouts.
Here’s one final birthday story to finish. Mike, the DJ at our local pub quiz always calls out a birthday boy or girl for special attention. Last year I thought great, he’s forgotten about me but then when I went to look at the picture round who was that at number 23 staring back at me? Yep, it was old picture of me downloaded from Facebook.
Not many people got a point for that one but the team next to us thought it was a young Roger Moore. Yes, I can see the resemblance . .
