“Everyone makes mistakes – and so do I,” sang the wonderful Big Bird in Sesame Street all those years ago. I still remember the tune of that song.

And the message is great. I was brought up to feel I shouldn’t make mistakes, I shouldn’t get things wrong. So I tried very hard not to.

Nonetheless, we do all get things wrong from time to time – and I certainly did. This is the story of a real doozy.

Becoming a film ‘extra’

Over 40 years ago, I received a general invitation to take part as an extra in a movie being filmed in London. An amusing idea, I thought, but not for me. I was busy with work, as well as looking after my seven-year-old daughter.

But my husband and daughter had other ideas. The minute I told them about it, they became very insistent: “You’ve got to do it.” I demurred. They pressed. They did not let up.

In the end, I went. My work was part-time and very flexible, so it was easy for me to take a few days off. My husband would get my daughter to school and back.

The film

The film, directed by Fred Zinnemann, was called Julia, starring Jane Fonda, Vanessa Redgrave and Jason Robards. It was about the American playwright, Lillian Hellman, and her attempt to smuggle cash into pre-war Germany at the request of her Jewish friend Julia.

Not that I knew much of that at the time.

We extras were used for several scenes, but my moment of glory took place in only one – a post opening night dinner at Sardi’s, the place that theatre people went on such occasions. It was famous for its cartoons of theatre people all over the walls.

(I was taken there years later by my parents, to see how it looked in real life. It was not very different from the film set. Having opened in 1921, it still exists one hundred years later.)

Being on set

We were all dressed in costumes of the period, plus a wig and make-up, so I looked nothing like my normal self (short hair and no make-up). I was amazed by the detailed trouble taken over people who would only be in the background.

I soon found that it was very boring most of the day. We spent a lot of time sitting around reading or chatting amongst ourselves. Some of the extras were regulars and I learned that we should hope that the filming went on for a long time, because we would then be paid overtime.

On set, it became more interesting. We were seated at tables with food in front of us and warned not to touch it. There was real shrimp cocktail, but they would not vouch for its freshness or safety.

When filming began, we had to look like we were in conversation, which was not difficult as we had been talking all day. But we could watch the actors surreptitiously, of course, as well as the director.

Watching a scene being filmed

When we were not on set, we were able to watch some of the filming.

I watched one scene, where Jane Fonda was talking to a young actress with the peculiar name of Meryl Streep. She was not especially pretty and seemed very awkward and uncomfortable in the role.

Indeed, I concluded that with her apparent lack of ability, lack of good looks and her odd name, she would not go far.

I even remember wanting to put an arm around her (she was ­only six years younger than me, but I felt motherly) and give her some sort of comfort.

I even wondered whether it would be appropriate to invite her home for dinner, but never acted on the thought.

Getting it very wrong

Oh dear. So much for my perspicacity. I did make a very large mis-judgment. Although I can add that I did read subsequently in some magazine interview that she said it was her first film and she definitely did feel uncomfortable.

I saw Julia, of course, when it came out – and on the television years later, when I could stop and rewind. There was no sign of me whatsoever – just a blur as the camera panned the restaurant while Jane Fonda made her grand entrance.

It was not a terrible film, but not a great one either and seems to have disappeared into the mists of time.

The beginning and end of my film career. But I don’t need to tell anyone that Meryl Streep went on to impress the world, including me, with her enormous sensitivity and skill as one of the foremost actresses of our time.

Perhaps one should cut a little slack to first films, first books and first everything else.

A version of this article can be found in my book, The Granny Who Stands on her Head: Reflections on growing older (see getbook.at/Stands-on-Head)

It was also published on SixtyandMe.com

Something made me think about ambition recently. Did I feel it was a good or bad thing in people, especially my friends? The answer is complicated.

The pros

On initial thinking, I tended to feel that ambition, when not taken to extremes, is a good thing.

It doesn’t matter whether a person’s aim is to be the best composer of the age or to reach the top job of his or her company (or the country, for that matter).

It makes us work harder at what we do and put real thought into how to do It better.

Indeed, although I lack appropriate evidence, ambition of one kind or another is probably responsible for most forms of human progress.

We seek to get there, so we seek new solutions. We often find new problems as we do so and seek solutions for them. And so forth and so on.

Progress gets made.

The cons

But there are also unintended consequences of ambition. It drives us on, but it also drives us to neglect other aspects of our lives. Not in every case, but often.

Hence, the large number of unhappy wives – or, I hasten to add, husbands – and neglected children. Not to mention the good friends never made.

It is all well known. You have heard it all before.

Ambition also tends to drive us to want to be seen as successful.

Of course, there are people everywhere who quietly succeed in their endeavours without any need to blow their own trumpet. But that is not the most common pattern.

And this makes for a heightened emotional atmosphere much of the time.

It is not simply a quiet barbecue among friends – it is a chance for each successful person to let the others know about the triumphs in their lives. The same goes on at dinner parties or down at the pub. It is human nature to let others know.

Again, you have heard it all before.

As ambition comes to a natural end

But what happens when ambition dries up or simply comes to a natural end?

You composed that amazing symphony or made it to the top of the greasy pole. Perhaps there is another symphony to be written or another pole to climb.

But eventually, whether satisfied or not, you reach the point where you slow down or stop altogether. You look around and start to think about other things and other people.

And, alongside such changes, you probably become nicer.

Being nice

It was my mother who noticed it first, years ago. She and my father had moved into a new retirement home and, after a suitable interval, I asked what the other people were like.

She said old people tended to be very nice, especially men, because they no longer had so much ambition. I can’t remember whether she elaborated hugely on the comment, but it made me think.

Niceness is an under-rated virtue. The very word somehow implies something innocuous and uninteresting. We value it in our friends, of course, but it is rarely on the top of the attributes we commend in people.

We tend to note their talents or their achievements and niceness is seen as an add-on, something that comes along with other attributes.

But the older I get, the more I see the importance of this quality – it represents thoughtfulness, kindness and a willingness to go the extra mile.

It does not bring any kudos, but it makes the world a so much more agreeable place.

My parents’ retirement home was full of professional people. There were said to be 17 former doctors, including three or four brain surgeons.

There were former journalists, former teachers and, surprisingly, quite a few moderately successful artists. But the emphasis was on the word ‘former’.

Yes, some of the writers were still writing and some of the artists were still painting, but on the whole, they had moved on.

And in the course of doing so, they had become just ‘people’.

Once ambition is removed from a person’s thinking, the landscape changes. Other people are not some form of competition, but just someone with whom to complain about the terrible weather.

You share a beer or a glass of wine and talk about football or the book you are reading. Even when you talk about more contentious issues, such as politics, it is other people’s success or failure you are talking about.

It is a big change!

The joys of growing older

So, one of the real joys of growing older is the diminishing ambition of everyone you meet.

Yes, people still complain. Yes, people still talk about themselves, whether their own latest health crisis or their excitement over a new grandchild.

But it is so restful when the matter of status has been removed.

A version of this article can be found in my book, The Granny Who Stands on her Head: Reflections on growing older (see getbook.at/Stands-on-Head)

It was also published on SixtyandMe.com

This article was first published on SixtyandMe.com