Today’s mid-bonk chat (that’s ‘in-between bonks’, not ‘you pound away up there and I’ll natter on like a fishwife underneath you’, you understand) turned to Retirement. The subject arose because Mr S was so full of beans that I actually heard myself say, whilst trying to get my breath back “I’m too old for this!”.
Well, rest assured dear Reader that I am NOT too old for this, but he laughed and said ‘Retiring tomorrow then?’ to which I replied ‘Yup, pension book and one of those trolley-on-wheels affairs, here I come’.
His retirement plans were far more interesting than mine. He plans to travel the world, properly. By which I mean, having thrown in the towel and picked up the gold watch at 50, he’s intending to buy a Jeep and drive around the world. Seven years, one for each continent. I can’t imagine it, frankly. The idea of being away from my own comfy bed for seven years? I mean, you heard me last week, bitching ‘cos I’d been out of it for seven days!
No, my retirement, when it comes, will be a very relaxed affair. There will be a blue rinse, carpet slippers and probably a teapot with flowers on it. I’m not sure why, as I don’t drink tea – but it seems ‘de rigeur’ to have a flowery teapot and I shall be very conformist. They might not let me in the WI otherwise.
However, it gives me great pleasure to share with you my favourite-est ever poem:
Warning – When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple
By Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
and learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.