The other day a guy leaned over the fence and said to me, ‘Wanna go to a dance?’
‘I don’t bat for your team,’ I said and continued digging.
‘I’m not looking for a night of hot sex,’ he said, ‘I just want to dance with someone who knows how to dance.’
I laughed so much I had to hold onto the spade so I wouldn’t fall over.
I fell over on the path about three months ago. There was nothing on the path I could have tripped on, I just fell. I landed heavily. Then realised there was no-one around. All the adults, schoolchildren, posties, couriers, who usually pass by in droves had gone to ground. There were no neighbours in sight. If I was going to get up I would have to do it by myself. I felt like I’d broken something but the only way to find that out for sure was to get up. I slid a little further down the path where there was a stake in the garden propping up a bush rose called Iceberg Burgundy.
Lots of fucks and shits later I was on my knees and then with a giant haul that made me yell Jesus Shit, I was up. I stood hanging onto the stake until I started breathing again then very slowly hobbled inside. So now I don’t garden unless I have the spade which is a good supporter and has the benefit of a handle I can grab if I think I’m going to fall when overcome by laughter. Or any other time.
According to The Spinoff, the Guardian called Margaret Drabble’s Dark Flood Rises, a ‘quiet meditation on old age‘ and goes on to say that it ‘seethes with apocalyptic intent‘.
I’m not sure what ‘apocalyptic intent‘ means but it sounds just like the kind of book that will send the literary community into a frenzy, possibly of apocalyptic intent, probably because they will pretend they understand what it means – they won’t read the book of course – why would they they read the book? They’ve read The Spinoff’‘s quote of what the Guardian said. The Spinoff will probably join in this frenzy of apocalyptic intent and call it The Spinoff Best Book of their Best Books of 2016. Or maybe they’ll just seethe etc etc…
I think Margaret Drabble’s bloody lucky to have time for quiet meditations about anything let alone old age. Old age is shit and anyone who tells you different is lying.
Old age is shit because everyone moans about me. They blame me for using up all the Health dollars, they blame me for getting the pension, or if you’re a National Party voter, Government Superannuation. Everyone blames me for having the temerity to think I earned it and when I say I still pay tax and I still pay ACC because I’m still Self-Employed’ they say anyone at my age shouldn’t be working and taking a job away from a younger more deserving person. This is probably when I have a wee seethe with murderous intent instead of apocalyptic.
There are lots of experts who know everything about being old even though they’re not. They get interviewed on RNZ. I’ve learned to turn the damn thing off when they start because I don’t want to have a high blood pressure event. This is what it was called when I went to Hospital a few years ago with blood pressure 212 over something because the tablets didn’t suit me. Never mind. We’ll try some other tablets. We don’t want you to have another event do we?
I’d like to still walk properly and not get aches and pains, not have had cancer and not have to take even more tablets and be a Drain on the Health System but I didn’t get asked, OK?
Now I looked at the guy over the fence, thought of us both falling over on the floor at the RSA and shook my head. He shrugged philosophically. “Love your garden,’ he said, and walked on.
Whoever said Old Age is not for Sissies didn’t add that it’s not for Brave people either. Old age is not a choice anyone would make – it just happens because you don’t die yet.
