Five go off for a paddle — and reality strikes

I’M trying to work out when it all started happening. Was it sudden or has it been creeping up gradually? I’m alluding to the descent into what has to be described as the ‘older brigade’. I still think of myself as young. I suppose all people who are getting older do. But the realisation of the true facts are beginning to dawn. None quite so evident as when five friends met up at the beach recently. One of our prerequisites was to be near a toilet. And when did we start bringing chairs to the beach? I didn’t bring one and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get comfortable and ended up sitting in a hole that some child had dug. A big one. Not a good look. I’ll bring a chair the next time. We were all social distancing so the shouting was amplified. It’s not easy to hear when you’re two metres apart. When you’re my age.

And then there was the paddling. When did I revert to paddling? I always thought that was for elderly nuns. Nope. That’s what my friends and myself do now. To be fair, one of our party is a swimmer of some prowess and donned her wet-suit and displayed her talents. Put the rest of us to shame. What happened to the bikini-clad young wans?

One member of our gang ate her picnic with plastic gloves on. For fear of Covid contamination. When we were leaving the beach to climb the steps with our stuff, ‘young’ people asked if they could help.

And that’s when it really hits. Five auld ones paddling, walking gingerly over the uneven sand, eating with gloves on and struggling up the steps.

I’d say they thought we came on a bus. Maybe they thought our swimmer was actually our carer.