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Ageing & Growing Old

Are you growing older?

  • Yes, I am

    Votes: 82 61.7%
  • No, I'm getting younger

    Votes: 28 21.1%
  • Sorry, I don't understand the question

    Votes: 16 12.0%
  • I'm a Mod; I think adding silly polls to chat threads is pointless

    Votes: 7 5.3%

  • Total voters
    133
I am now being called "Sir" quite often when I buy a drink in a pub. I feel like telling them I've not been knighted - not yet at least - but I don't, of course. This feels like just one step away from someone offering me their seat on the tram.

Not being young I don't mind being called "Sir" , anything is better in a pub than "Squire" or "Matie". Best was in Lidl when being served by a 19-20 year old lad (African) who I referrred to as "Sir" without a second thought - he turned to my Mum in open wonder "no-one has ever called me Sir before."
 
Find anything good?

Very kind of you to ask - 'good' being a very relative term for finds but for me, yes.
Apologies for the bad picture: one plough-battered but complete crotal bell (hung aroung sheep' neck 300 years ago and still jingles) and a tunic fastener with a Tudor rose on it (possibly 1560's)

Crotal0414.jpg
 
It does go the other way.

Last year I was sat in a seat on the train from Leeds to Manchester. My wife was sat next to me; the train was packed.

As the train got under way, a young couple came up and the husband said 'Excuse me Sir, but I think you are sat in our seats'.

And he was correct. They had booked beforehand.

So we pensioners had to stand from Leeds to Manchester. Our own fault for not booking ahead of time.

But I do remember that the previous year I had given up my booked seat to a young girl with a baby.

Guess that's just the way it goes these days.

I have given up my seat / place in a queue / opportunity to purchase etc. a great many times.

It's not that I'm nice, mind you.

It's more that I know myself well enough to know that I will be racked with guilt afterwards if I don't, and that trying to rectify the situation later (by swapping seats mid-journey, thrusting final stock purchased into unwilling hand, apologising too late) will only compound my embarrassment at having to interact with a stranger more than necessary.

I am selfishly charitable.

I blame my parents: far too good at explaining the right thing and then asking me to choose what to do while gazing at me expectantly.

I'd have made a good Catholic.
 
I tried to give up my seat in the bus shelter the other day - the rain was something to behold with wonder at the time - but the late middle aged lady totally got the wrong end of the stick and thought I was frightened of her dog. I wouldn't have minded except this was utterly ridiculous as her dog was about the size of a rabbit and less intimidating. I am not remotely frightened of any dogs anyway, let alone ones that look like something you could put on the barbecue. She then went and stood in the rain making me look like a complete arsehole. All of this because I tried to do the "right" thing and she was a bit hard of understanding.
 
I tried to give up my seat in the bus shelter the other day - the rain was something to behold with wonder at the time - but the late middle aged lady totally got the wrong end of the stick and thought I was frightened of her dog. I wouldn't have minded except this was utterly ridiculous as her dog was about the size of a rabbit and less intimidating. I am not remotely frightened of any dogs anyway, let alone ones that look like something you could put on the barbecue. She then went and stood in the rain making me look like a complete arsehole. All of this because I tried to do the "right" thing and she was a bit hard of understanding.
There's no cure for that. You did the right thing.
 
re OrsonSwells about being called sir. I recall when working for the Civil Service I mentioned that, personally, I'm uncomfortable with being called Sir. To which one quiet old woman who sat near me said "What am I supposed to say, hiya dick head, can I help you?"

I laughed for quite a while at that one.
 
There was a time, particularly in America, when fathers expected their sons to call them 'Sir'.
 
My best friend just said he wonders which one of us will be the first to die. Well i suppose we are getting too the age where we should start considering death, but its a sobering thought. My mood right now.
 
Don't worry about it, Titch.

You won't know when it has happened.
 
Maybe you can contact Swifty ?

That will cause him to change underwear.

'But Swifty, mate, it's me ,titch'.

'Begone foul spectre'.

'Now that's not very nice, is it'.
 
I’m 64.

l was at the gym a couple of weeks ago for one of my thrice-weekly weight-training sessions, when l happened to notice an over-60s fitness class being conducted in the studio across the corridor. l thought l’d watch and see what l should be doing.

Long story short, my fellow sexagenarians were doing some sad, low-speed Dad Dance which involved bringing left foot to right foot, clapping high right; right foot to left foot, clapping high left. Inspiring.

l sighed, and continued my three sets of ten deadlifts with 154lbs on the 45lb hex bar.

maximus otter
 
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Our cleaner didn’t turn up this morning, so I contacted the agency.

She got back to me about half an hour ago to say that she finally contacted the ladies partner & found that she had died last night.

She had suffered from asthma & had trouble breathing last night, got to casulay & was found to have a pulmonary embolism, which killed her!

She was only forty..........
 
Our cleaner didn’t turn up this morning, so I contacted the agency.

She got back to me about half an hour ago to say that she finally contacted the ladies partner & found that she had died last night.

She had suffered from asthma & had trouble breathing last night, got to casulay & was found to have a pulmonary embolism, which killed her!

She was only forty..........

Good Lord.

Poor lady--may she rest in peace.
 
My best friend just said he wonders which one of us will be the first to die. Well i suppose we are getting too the age where we should start considering death, but its a sobering thought. ...

It's never too early to comprehend and acknowledge the fact your time at this circus is finite. I'm not saying you need to dwell on it day in and day out, but you won't achieve a realistic perspective until and unless you understand you'll be exiting at some point - with or without any closure you may have wished for.

As to the "first to die" bit ... This same sort of speculation emerged within my closest circle of friends as we entered our fifties. I would often pose that question as a deliberate opening gambit for discussing how one or some of us might be working too hard to hasten the end (e.g., via self-destructive habits). At least two of my closest friends finally took steps to clean up their act after I repeatedly needled them to the effect I expected to attend their funerals sooner than for other close friends. It provided something of a challenge they took to heart and acted upon.

As soon as you feel you've attained the situation / status that will be in force for the remainder of your life it's reasonable (I'd say wise ... ) to consider who and / or what you can expect to leave behind. If there's a certain way you'd prefer things to play out once you've left the stage, you need to ensure that outcome.
 
Not being young I don't mind being called "Sir" , anything is better in a pub than "Squire" or "Matie". Best was in Lidl when being served by a 19-20 year old lad (African) who I referrred to as "Sir" without a second thought - he turned to my Mum in open wonder "no-one has ever called me Sir before."
At work I make a point of calling children 'sir' or 'madam'. I feel it makes them feel grown-up and sensible.

Besides, as I walk away I often hear 'Mummy! That lady called me Sir and I'm only a little boy!'

Cracks me up!
 
I’m 64. l thought l’d watch and see what l should be doing.

Long story short, my fellow sexagenarians were doing some sad, low-speed Dad Dance which involved bringing left foot to right foot, clapping high right; right foot to left foot,
maximus otter

Maybe they need you to lead the classes. Either that, or maybe they are just starting out with being more active and you can be a role model as to what they might achieve!
 
It's never too early to comprehend and acknowledge the fact your time at this circus is finite. I'm not saying you need to dwell on it day in and day out, but you won't achieve a realistic perspective until and unless you understand you'll be exiting at some point - with or without any closure you may have wished for.

As to the "first to die" bit ... This same sort of speculation emerged within my closest circle of friends as we entered our fifties. I would often pose that question as a deliberate opening gambit for discussing how one or some of us might be working too hard to hasten the end (e.g., via self-destructive habits). At least two of my closest friends finally took steps to clean up their act after I repeatedly needled them to the effect I expected to attend their funerals sooner than for other close friends. It provided something of a challenge they took to heart and acted upon.

As soon as you feel you've attained the situation / status that will be in force for the remainder of your life it's reasonable (I'd say wise ... ) to consider who and / or what you can expect to leave behind. If there's a certain way you'd prefer things to play out once you've left the stage, you need to ensure that outcome.

Death where is thy sting? Out of sheer stubbornness I will stay until God or the Devil claims me - but there are losses worse than death. In any case, I've always lived by the motto 'Ye knowest not the day nor the hour' - Indeed I used to have it printed on my mug. Once I've gone I've gone - let the chips fall as they may.

Edit - Maximus, I also am 64 , by one day now.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 
At work I make a point of calling children 'sir' or 'madam'. I feel it makes them feel grown-up and sensible.

Besides, as I walk away I often hear 'Mummy! That lady called me Sir and I'm only a little boy!'

Cracks me up!

In my days of doing jobs where I had to deal with the public (yuck) we were trained never to use 'madam' as it implies a brothel keeper. So we couldn't really use 'sir' either, otherwise you only talk to the patriarchy.
 
Maybe they need you to lead the classes. Either that, or maybe they are just starting out with being more active and you can be a role model as to what they might achieve!
That class could of course be designed for people with heart problems, severe back issues, or arthritis etc, where more complex activity is not possible. Having said that , I'd have to be dead to be seen in a gym. Some I know attend obsessively, particularly girls, but when asked why, cannot give an explanation.
 
I'd have to be dead to be seen in a gym. Some I know attend obsessively, particularly girls, but when asked why, cannot give an explanation.

They know exactly why they go. It's the adrenalin, the fitness, the camaraderie, the lovely sight of their own bodies becoming slimmer and shapelier. They don't explain because they don't need to justify it to you!

Source: I used to work in gyms and saw lots of unfit people turn their lives around.
 
They know exactly why they go. It's the adrenalin, the fitness, the camaraderie, the lovely sight of their own bodies becoming slimmer and shapelier. They don't explain because they don't need to justify it to you!

Source: I used to work in gyms and saw lots of unfit people turn their lives around.

Wasn't asking for justification, merely why they do it.
 
They know exactly why they go. It's the adrenalin, the fitness, the camaraderie, the lovely sight of their own bodies becoming slimmer and shapelier. They don't explain because they don't need to justify it to you!

Source: I used to work in gyms and saw lots of unfit people turn their lives around.

I've got to confess, I can be a bit critical when I see somebody has got themselves into an horrific physical state.

But I'm also the first person to cheer them on when they're visibly dealing with it, and sincerely congratulate them when they've turned it all around.

If you sneer at fat people slobbing around, eating junkfood, and then sneer at them for jogging or sweating buckets on an exercise bike, you're just a ******* idiot.

I made no bones, for instance, that I thought my brother in law was a selfish bastard for continuing to smoke like a chimney with a wife and two young children, but when he quit ('cold-Turkey') I told him he was a bloody hero.
 
On a cycling forum I saw one of those 'This is how I think I look/really look' posts with a picture of a thin cyclist next to a fat one.

I objected because it's just nasty to mock someone for their appearance when they're working hard to get fit. We should be better than that.

If anyone illustrated a joke about fat cyclists with a picture of me I'd hunt them down like a dog and mess them up.
 
Never too old to learn.

Ernestina Díaz is proud to have just completed her primary school education in Mexico's Chihuahua State - especially as she is 81 years old.

She received her certificate from the local Adult Education Institute, which published her photograph in a congratulatory post on its Twitter account.

"Stories like that of Ernestina Díaz are what impel us to continue to broaden our services and strengthen our programmes, so that we can reach all Mexicans who have missed out on an education. Congratulations for this well-deserved achievement!" it said.

What is even more remarkable is that Mrs Díaz is a member of the Tarahumara or Rarámuri people, subsistence farmers who live high in the Sierra Madre Occidental mountains of northern Mexico.

https://www.bbc.com/news/blogs-news-from-elsewhere-49690193#
 
I've got to confess, I can be a bit critical when I see somebody has got themselves into an horrific physical state.

But I'm also the first person to cheer them on when they're visibly dealing with it, and sincerely congratulate them when they've turned it all around.

If you sneer at fat people slobbing around, eating junkfood, and then sneer at them for jogging or sweating buckets on an exercise bike, you're just a ******* idiot.

I made no bones, for instance, that I thought my brother in law was a selfish bastard for continuing to smoke like a chimney with a wife and two young children, but when he quit ('cold-Turkey') I told him he was a bloody hero.


Exactly my way of thinking Yith.

Each evening on my daily drive home from the station, (which is a 19 mile schlep through traffic) I see plenty of overweight and or elderly people out jogging. And even though I can walk faster than what they can jog, I always give them a toot and a thumb’s up sign.

Every Saturday morning I take my son swimming lessons at the local leisure centre. Last Saturday (while he was in the lesson) I took a stroll around the centre and discovered an astro turf pitch where there was a full game of 11 aside football going on, but all the players were old men - when I say old men I really mean old men.

During a period of inactivity in the game (which is 90% of the time I would imagine LOL) I asked one of the goalkeepers what the average age of the players were, and 80 plus was his reply.

The oldest chap was 89 (according to the goalkeeper) - legend, top man.
 
I assume they're playing 'walking football' which is a thing for oldies who probably played years ago but haven't got the legs or anything else, for running.

A mate of mine plays regularly for his local team in his late 50s, & in veteran category for England. They play a few tournaments here & Europe. I think their oldest forward is over 70. Still gets a few goals apparently but doesn't do too much running.
 
Saw an article about Tony Slattery recently, from this last April. He's a few years younger than I am but looks a good ten years older.
I thought it was Paulie Walnuts from The Sopranos. Lifestyle, y'know.

Had the feeling he's not expected to be here much after his next birthday in November.
 
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