Sil­ver surfers refuse to grow old - rightly so!

Kent Messenger Maidstone - - FRONT PAGE -

Mrs Nur­den woke up in a cold sweat and sat bolt up­right.

“I can’t be­lieve I’ve just spent the night with an old age pen­sioner!” she screamed.

At the stroke of mid­night I had turned into an OAP.

In much the same way as nice lit­tle boys trans­mo­grify into mono­syl­labic stroppy teenagers when they be­come 13, there is a sim­i­lar ef­fect on nor­mally mild-man­nered men when they be­come 65.

In my fa­ther’s day, they would re­tire from a life­time’s work with the same com­pany clutch­ing a car­riage clock and look for­ward to a few ad­di­tional years shuf­fling around the house in pais­ley slip­pers and, very pos­si­bly, smok­ing a pipe.

But it seems times have changed.

Sixty has be­come the new 40.

There is now a gen­er­a­tion of sil­ver surfers who stub­bornly refuse to grow old in much the same way as Peter Pan re­mained a boy.

Mrs Nur­den sim­ply be­lieves I have be­come se­nile and re­verted to some­thing of a sec­ond child­hood.

But, of course, that im­plies that I grew up and left my first child­hood.

Most women I have spo­ken to find it dif­fi­cult to come to terms with the con­cept of men reach­ing ma­tu­rity.

They re­gard us with amuse­ment and treat us like naughty boys.

It is, in­deed, dif­fi­cult for men like me to take life too se­ri­ously, es­pe­cially when one has be­come a Papa and has a moral duty to lead the Boy Childs slightly astray.

Grand­par­ents of­ten joke that the best thing about hav­ing grand­chil­dren is the abil­ity to hand them back to their par­ents at the end of the day.

Cer­tainly, a day is the max­i­mum amount of time a grand­par­ent can cope with a full-on young­ster des­per­ate to de­stroy a house and run around shout­ing at full vol­ume.

But in all hon­esty we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Be­com­ing a pen­sioner is go­ing to be a chal­lenge – but in a good way.

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