Two little girls, age 2 and 4, are having a bath. Their mother, a doctor, is asking them to wash themselves. “Who is going to wash her face,” she asks. “Me,” “Me”, they shout at once, giggling.

There is a bit of splashing, Then the mother continues, “And who is going to wash her vulva?” “Me,” “Me,” they again shout at once, again giggling.

Did your eyebrows go up? Mine did. And then they went down again. I think she was right.

It takes a bit of thinking about.

And where did I hear this exchange? On BBC Radio 4, on a series of programmes entitled “Inside Health,” with this section brazenly called “The vulva,” played on a Wednesday afternoon.

Body part names – men

We grow up and are told various names for the lower end of our bodies.

Words for the male body are easy for reasons that aren’t altogether clear. You can use the formal words – penis and testicles – and many people do.

You might not talk about these things at the Queen’s Garden Party, but otherwise they are considered reasonable words with no overtones of impropriety.

There is also a friendly child’s term for the penis in England – and perhaps other parts of the world – the ‘willy’. It has an endearing quality and is not considered impolite, except in the most formal circumstances. Some men use it, too, but rarely in a sexual context.

And, of course, there are a lot of slang words for both, which you don’t learn at school and we don’t need to worry about here.

Body part names – women

But for us women, it is much more complicated. There have always been issues around what we call our various body parts in the lower region.

And much more of a frisson when we say them out loud.

Somewhere along the line, we learn we have a vagina, often contrasted to the penis, and it is also seen as a respectable term.

And at school, we tend to be shown pictures of the inside reproductive parts, so we know about the ovaries, the fallopian tubes and the uterus (or womb) – and even the vagina in this context.

But what about the rest of our equipment? Who teaches us that we have a vulva or a mons pubis or labia majora and minora (which sound like some distant part of Turkey).

No one teaches us, we cannot see them and we remain remarkably ignorant. Indeed, we often know the names for the more detailed parts of our eyes better than we do of our female parts.

And then there are the inevitable euphemisms. My mother told me I had a ‘front bottom’ and a ‘back bottom’ and left it at that. I never learned anything more in that department from her.

When I had my daughter in 1969, the nurses informed me that I had a ‘front passage’, a ‘back passage’ and a ‘birth canal’. I had a slight jolt, but I worked it all out.

(If I may digress, I also learned that babies ‘passed motions’, but at the same time – remember it was a period of student protests – the students at my husband’s university were busy ‘making motions’. Or it may have been the other way around. The two concepts have been forever mixed up in my head since that time.)

Again, I am not getting into the business of slang. You could write a book about that.

The power of words

So why are we shocked when a mother teaches her young children to use the correct word for that part between the legs?

You just don’t hear the word very often and it sounds, well, too strong, too technical or perhaps too much ‘off colour’.

Is the word ‘vulva’ seen as vulgar because it starts with the same three letters? What if, instead, we associated it with a Swedish car? It already sounds a lot more friendly.

But you may say, it is not ‘nice’ because it is associated with sex. But so is the penis and it does not have the same power said out loud.

There is certainly nothing shameful about the vulva – or, indeed, any part of the body. The vulva and other bits and pieces are simply parts of the female anatomy. Every female has them, from the new-born baby to the 90-year-old woman and beyond.

On reflection, it can only be right for mothers to teach their children the right words and to not be embarrassed by any part of their body. This goes for boys as well as girls, so we all know all the anatomical terms.

But perhaps she might hold off on the word ‘clitoris.’ It would be difficult to explain what it is for.

A version of this article was first published on SixtyandMe

“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

“It’s not fair!” – how often have we heard that from our children or grandchildren when they are playing a game or being punished or, indeed, at any number of other points in the day?

And they are right – life is very unfair. Indeed, the more I think about it, the more I feel that luck plays a huge part in our lives. Possibly the largest part of all.

Luck in our health, luck in our genes – and even luck in our personality and character.

The view of children

Children are very quick to point out all the unfairness in life.

Their friend got a better computer for Christmas. Another friend’s mother lets him stay up late. Another friend never has to practise her violin. It goes on and on.

Sometimes, it is just where we are in life.

My daughter, age seven, and I were on our way to the Christmas concert that her piano teacher held every year for her pupils to play for their collective parents. “It’s not fair,” she argued in her nervousness, “the other children have been learning for much longer and of course they can play better.”

I did my best to reassure her that she would do fine. Which she did.

Years passed, and we were again on our way to exactly the same occasion, but she was now age 14. “It’s not fair…,” she exclaimed, with no memory of the previous occasion, “the young kids get to play easy songs with two fingers, and I have to play The Moonlight Sonata.”

Again, I tried to reassure her that she would do fine, which she did. But I must admit that I could not resist pointing out the earlier discussion and may have left her feeling she could not win.

And, from her point of view, she was right. Life did not feel fair.

We do our best to discuss with our children how no, life isn’t fair, and we all need to learn to live with it. Or, on occasion, we try to explain why life is fair, to help them see the positive side.

Or we find some other words to move the conversation on. It’s not a discussion at which anyone really wins.

The view of adults

Adults are no different on this issue.

A young man will complain that one particular friend always gets the pretty girls, when he has no special qualities to attract them.

An older woman will feel slighted when a male colleague is promoted above her, although she is clearly more talented at the job.

There are, of course, numerous other circumstances on which I could draw. Sometimes, we are quick to find an explanation that assures us of our case.

The girls don’t really like that friend, but they like the fact he has a car. It is because the employer is prejudiced against women that he has promoted the man – or perhaps it is discrimination against older people.

We have many such explanations up our sleeves, sometimes correct ones.

Growing older

Growing older brings out so many inequities one by one, until you lose track of any sense of fairness. It is, I feel, a driving force of much of our lives.

Most visibly, there is good health. Some people seem to be born with a strong constitution and the ability to fight off whatever diseases afflict them.

Others fall at the first hurdle, dying young from unexpected cancer or other disease affecting young people. Or, indeed, they die horribly in a car accident, as did my younger sister not yet out of her 20s.

As we age, our bodies test us constantly and sometimes, the heart or a kidney or a lung or even an innocent-looking nerve gone rogue gets the upper hand. We are left unable to lead a full life or, perhaps, disabled by pain. This is clearly not fair.

But health is only the beginning. Where most people seek the warmth and happiness of marriage (or close partnership, the legalities are not important), this seems to elude some of us to the end.

And then there are the broken marriages. How much pain is represented in the statistics of divorce – the marriage ended due to a constantly roving eye or alcoholism or downright boredom.

It is total luck, in my view, that the hopes of some young brides come roughly true while others fall by the wayside because these contingencies could not remotely have been foreseen.

And then there are the children, and subsequent grandchildren, who get themselves born – or not. I did not know it beforehand – I thought naively that the interests and personalities of your children were roughly predictable.

How wrong could I have been? Some seem to come out of the womb ready to please, to fit in, to make a good life for themselves. Others make life difficult for everyone around them and, most of all, for themselves. It is certainly not fair, one way or the other.

Life’s rich tapestry is not rich in the same way for one and all. Most of us struggle along as best we can and feel pleased when something works out.

Our own efforts

Some like to think that any success was due to their own talent and hard work. And they may be right. “The harder I work, the more luck I have,” you hear people say.

But having those very skills – the talent, resourcefulness and perseverance that helped them work hard – must be seen as luck in the first place. They might have been born differently.

The same is true for health. Some will declare that their own good health is down to the fact that they always ate healthy food, never smoked and took lots of exercise.

You can readily agree. But perhaps you should also question what qualities such people had deep within them that provided the disposition to pursue that course. It still comes back to luck, in my view.

What can we do?

We can have good luck or bad or, for that matter, in-between. Basically, life is just unfair.

There is little more that can be said. I can only offer the phrase that French parents seem to offer their children, when asked a difficult question – “C’est comme ça”, they say (that’s the way it is).

I always thought that is not much of an explanation of anything, but it will have to do.

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 first published on SixtyandMe.com

As winter slowly turns into spring, most people turn their thoughts to warmer weather, flowers in the park and, probably, the birds and the bees. These are all good things to welcome, in my view.

But what I really like in the late spring, right up to the summer solstice (21 June) and beyond, are the long light evenings. Taking a walk when it is officially night-time – 9 p.m., say, but it feels like a slightly odd daytime – is very special. Even better when it is a warm evening.

There is something very soft and peaceful about such an evening. I find it very calming. And it feels like a bonus in your day, a little ‘extra time’ that is not usually available.

Winter nights

Let us go back a step. The opposite of a summer light evening is the winter period around the solstice (21 December) when the nights are long and intrude heavily into the day.

Some people love the winter evenings ‘drawing in’, but not me. I am very, very uncomfortable at this time of year – from mid-November to late January or so in London, where I live.

It can become dark well before 4 o’clock in the afternoon – indeed, at the exact point of the winter solstice, the sun goes down before then and dusk comes even earlier.

Although the streetlights come on, I find it hard to see where I am. Often, the air is murky, which makes it worse. Yet this is a time when we need to be out and about doing things.

I feel disoriented and uneasy. I invariably arrive home in a bad mood.

And I worry especially for those older children who are making their way home in the dark. Many are wearing dark coats and trousers and they are certainly not very visible to drivers when crossing the street at this time.

Summer nights

But let us come back to the late spring and summer, when I can see clearly and have no worries for the safety of children.

The precise length of the day on the summer solstice differs according to where you live, of course. In England (which is further north than many people think), the days can be very long.

In London, my research tells me, the sun rises at roughly 4.40 a.m. and sets at roughly 9.20 p.m. at the height of the solstice, but of course, it can remain light for much longer. Even at 10.00 p.m., the sky is not completely dark.

In New York, to give one comparison, the sun rises almost an hour later and sets nearly an hour earlier. This gives New Yorkers a long day as well, but not as long.

But the real point here is that it is lovely for all of us. If the day has been hot, you can go for a walk in the gentle air of the evening. Or you can sit in the garden with friends. Or the park.

The atmosphere is completely different from that of the day. It is evening but not evening. I find it magical.

Light mornings

Those readers who were watching carefully – or who, like me, don’t sleep well through the night – may note that another effect of the summer solstice is a lot of very early light.

In London, you can wake up to sunshine well before 5 o’clock. This can be a problem if you need darkness to sleep.

But for me, it is a small price to pay for the long languorous evenings. I consider that to be our prize for putting up with the winter darkness.

Sun standing still

The word solstice means the sun standing still in Latin. It seems like a small pause before the change of the sun’s seasonal movement.

That makes sense to me. And it is a time when we can all stand still and ponder.

When you were younger but already adult, your parents most likely helped you in every way they could. Not everyone has such help, but a huge number of us do. And perhaps your grandparents did the same.

Maybe it was financial help. They gave you a down payment for a mortgage or helped with all those extras, like music lessons and school trips. Or college expenses for older children.

Or perhaps they offered a lot of useful advice about coping with different aspects of life. We all need that from time to time.

Or maybe they offered help looking after your children when you were at work, either on a regular basis or on occasion. Grandparents have always done a lot of such childcare.

They gave what they could – their financial resources their wisdom, their time.

Now you find yourself helping your children or grandchildren in much the same way.

What is going on?

Serial reciprocity

Years ago, I carried out research on the nature of patient support groups, then often called ‘self-help’ groups. These are sometimes very small local groups of people with a common condition, such as breast cancer or being widowed young.

Or they might be branches of much larger national organisations, such as for people with disabled children or people suffering from arthritis.

I carried out a survey of members of some groups about how much people participated in their activities and why. I also visited a lot of groups and met their committee members. Most of all, I was interested in what people gained from them and what made the groups work.

It seemed to me that members of such support groups were essentially involved in a form of reciprocity, but not of the normal kind. When you ask a neighbour if you can borrow a cup of sugar, she may well have already borrowed some milk from you on an earlier occasion. This is direct reciprocation – you helped her and she now helps you.

But when you, as a long-standing member of a support group, give a new member advice about how to cope with a problem, it is unlikely that she has already helped you. She is new and bewildered and in need of help.

But another member of that group may well have helped you on an earlier occasion, when you were equally in need. You are grateful and want to give back to others in response.

What is going on here is what I called ‘serial reciprocity’. You give back to a new person because you have already been helped. Your motivation is to reciprocate or give back to others in thanks for the help you received.

Neither of you may think about it in this way, but it is often an underlying motivation.

It can go on and on, as members come and go. The eagerness to reciprocate goes on in a serial fashion. Help begets help.

Families

And this is exactly what goes on in families. The help you received from an earlier generation makes you want to give help back to the next generation.

Again, this may be financial help (‘the bank of mum and dad’) to help with all sorts of expenses of young couples. Or it may be advice, based on your experience. Or it may be your time, collecting grandchildren from school and the like.

And your children will do the same for their children and grandchildren.

Love

Of course, you can also say it is ‘love’ that makes you want to help your adult children and nothing to do with reciprocity. And that may be so.

But I think people are programmed to try to pay back for help received.

And who better to pay ‘back’ than members of your own family.

It is part of the circle of life.

Years ago, I coined the term ‘cheap luxury’ in my household, but I think it is a good time to spread it around. See if you think it has meaning for you.

The term first arose, if I am not mistaken, over a jar of mustard. We were in a supermarket deciding what to buy and confronted a shelf full of mustards. Some were much more expensive than others and we were not very well off, but we had some small room for manoeuvre.

How to choose? Leaving aside the type of mustard (French, German, English, with seeds etc), there was also the question of cost. If my budget had been extremely tight, I would have gone for the cheapest, no doubt about it. In contrast, those who have no budget constraints and always want the best would choose the most expensive.

We discussed it and thought the most expensive was also notably better, I forget the reasons, and decided to buy it.  Why? Because it was basically a cheap luxury. And then I began to think about it.

What makes for a cheap luxury?

Most of us like to feel cossetted now and again. We can’t afford it most of the time. But my great ‘discovery’ was that we could afford it when the overall cost was low.

The difference between the cheapest brand of mustard and the most expensive was large in relative terms, but altogether small in the scale of things.

Perhaps this is obvious. But how many people really go for it?

A little luxury now and again does us good. We feel pampered and, for no good reason, more loved. We luxuriate in it. So, my argument was, why not indulge in a cheap luxury when it is something you really appreciate? It won’t break the bank.

Examples of cheap luxuries

There are numerous examples of cheap luxuries, some of which most of us do without even thinking about it.

I love lying in a hot bubble bath, for instance, soaking up the heat. It eases the muscles and relaxes the whole body. As the water cools, I will often let a little out and add more hot water. I know this is not costless, but I do it nonetheless. It is a cheap luxury.

Thinking of baths, have you ever considered your bath soap? Most people, as far as I know, buy ordinary bath soap for themselves but choose expensive brands as gifts for friends and family for Christmas or birthdays.

But we decided long ago to buy the good soap for ourselves for regular use – not even keeping it for special occasions. The cost is low, and it just feels nice.

I could go on and on. So many foods and ordinary household products fall into the category of cheap luxuries, depending on your interests and tastes. So, too, do small items of clothing, such as the not-most-expensive silk underwear.

Expensive luxuries

Lest anyone think I am advocating always buying at the high end, let me stress this is not remotely the case.

A new sports car – or even many ‘another’ car – is not a cheap luxury. It is an expensive one, as it will cost a lot of money. Hugely more than a simple car to get you around. Your bank balance will really notice.

I haven’t owned any car for years and when we did, it was a VW beetle. But I would never buy an expensive car now.

First class train or air tickets fall in the same category. You can’t even argue that they will get you to your destination any faster. Good luck to those who can afford to pay for them without holding back on other expenditure. But you know you are forking out sizeable amounts.

The same is true for hotels. You recognise the luxury and perhaps even decide to go for it, but you need to know what you are doing. In these days of inexpensive B&Bs, or even air B&Bs providing more space, luxury hotels are there for people who are not worried about cost.

None of us are going anywhere at the moment, but we will soon. I never travel first class, as it is a high price to pay for peace and quiet. And I have never liked the expensive hotels I have stayed in, as they tend to lack a human touch.

So I am not into expensive stuff – just cheap luxury.

Indulge yourself

I am not generally one to tell other people how to spend their money. We all have different interests and financial situations, and it is up to each of us. But if you do not do so already, think about splashing out on a nice bar of soap for yourself (or the equivalent).

You will get more than your money’s worth in the sense of luxury it brings.

This was first published on Sixtyandme.com

I cannot keep my secret quiet any longer. I have suffered in silence for years. Only my closest friends know the situation and they tend to sympathise. It’s not really my fault, BUT I really hate shopping. I always have.

The problem

Let’s try to ‘unpack’ this little problem. Perhaps I had a bad experience in the past. Perhaps if I were to be given the right sort of aversion therapy (or is it the opposite?), I might learn to love shopping.

I doubt it. There is very little I could learn to like.

First and foremost, I am not very acquisitive. I don’t much like ‘things’. A new dress rarely cheers me up. Nor does finding just the right vase or tablecloth.

I might make an exception for a new book I look forward to reading, but there aren’t many such exceptions.

Secondly, I am really uncomfortable in crowds. I try to find times to shop when the crowds will be small, but it is difficult. Many shops are quiet first thing in the morning, but if it requires public transport to get there, you are stuck in any case.

As you can imagine, I would never shop in a sale – people struggling to get into the front in order to acquire that one thing specially on sale is my idea of sheer hell.

Thirdly, I can’t bear the whole process of trudging from shop to shop to find the right thing. I find it incredibly dispiriting. Leaving aside food shopping, I have never found one store – yes, even a large department store – which sold exactly what I wanted in every department.

Too much choice

And finally, I hate being given too much choice. I can stand for what feels like hours in front of a shelf full of breakfast cereals, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.

Yes, I will often fall down this line of thought… Maybe I should try that one with the little bits of fruit, but no, would I be better off with something with bran? Does it have too much hidden sugar? Or salt? Is this one over-priced because it has a child’s gift inside?

Point a gun and tell me what to choose and I would be much happier.

I am certainly no better with house furnishings. However much I try to prepare for such decisions, I am constantly worrying that something is the wrong size or the wrong colour for everything else in that room. I have no ability to visualise it.  It makes me feel incompetent. Not recommended.

And it is much worse with clothes. I am an awkward size (too short, hips too big), but then everyone I know says they think they are an awkward size. No problem if you enjoy the process anyway, but in my case it is a nightmare.

I dislike the whole rigamarole of trying things on – not because of the slim young things in the dressing room – but simply because I have never been very good at getting dressed and undressed.

And then you are back to the problem of choice. Well, it doesn’t fit perfectly, but then nothing ever does, so do I choose the slightly tight waist or the awkward fit over the shoulders?

Do I really need this garment anyway?

Mail order

So, you might argue – if you hate shopping, why not go the mail order route? It is so easy in this day and age.

Yes, I do a lot of shopping via mail order. I have learned, over time, which companies sell trousers that actually fit and which catalogues’ pictures are reasonably accurate. Some companies have very helpful staff who will discuss details like the ‘feel’ of a garment. Much welcomed by me.

It is a bit of a nuisance when you need to send things back, but they are making the packaging much more suitable for this purpose. And at least the line in the post office is not much longer than the line in the store you would have experienced if you had bought the item in a store in the first place.

The test I can’t pass

Shopping feels like a kind of test that I am always failing. Either I come back with nothing – and everyone says “What? You couldn’t find anything you liked?” Or I come home with something and they say “What? You chose that?”

I hate shopping. I’m afraid the feeling will stay with me until the en

A version of this article has been published in my book, The Granny Who Stands on her Head: Reflections on Growing Older

This was initially published by Sixtyandme.com. 

Do you feel that you spend too much time on life’s trivia? You know the sort of thing – dealing with gas or electricity bills, coping with computer or broadband problems or just keeping the household running okay.

A certain amount of time is acceptable, but sometimes there is a problem that refuses to be fixed easily. You try one thing, then another and nothing works – and you end up having a very bad day.

This happened to me recently when I needed to buy – of all prosaic things – a mop.

Broken mop

 It was about two weeks ago. My mop handle broke – in just the same way its predecessor had done before. I decided I not only needed a new mop, but perhaps a new kind of mop.

I asked my very savvy neighbour what type of mop she would recommend. I won’t bore you with the details, but she suggested a particular type and brand (it was a mop and bucket set) and I thought the problem was solved. All I needed to do was to buy it.

Online shops

I am a great believer that you can buy anything online and very quickly.

I went to the online supermarket that I use regularly and could see no sign of this mop. Yes, they had the bucket, they even had refill mops for this brand, but the mop itself was nowhere to be seen.

So off I went to Amazon, the supplier that everyone loves and hates at the same time (but that’s another story). Yes, they had the mop, but not the bucket. I was informed that they would have the perfect ‘mop and bucket set’ in three weeks, even at a good price. But I wanted the mop now.

This was getting annoying.

Actual shops

I then remembered that there is a not too distant hardware store, which sometimes has such things as mops, although it tends to be overpriced. I wanted to phone to check, but didn’t have their name. And then I had a senior moment and couldn’t think of the right word for a hardware shop. Nor could my husband.

But somehow, it came to me and I phoned the shop. They had the mop, they said, but the price given was so low that I doubted if it was the right one. And the bucket would be just under £50 ($65). I even phoned back to see if I got that right.

Was it a silver-plated bucket? I have no idea, but I do not need a bucket for that price!

This was getting seriously annoying. I was definitely losing my cool.

Wider impact

Indeed, I was in such a state that I realised I needed to stop. I went off to make lunch.

This may have been a mistake. I was so riled up that I began to do stupid things with the stove and nearly burned the lunch.

I certainly managed to annoy my long-suffering and very relaxed husband. He told me he thought I was about to burn myself or even damage the house, never mind the lunch. I didn’t.

But it was not a relaxed time. I kept trying to explain what a problem I had had, but he said he wasn’t really interested in a mop. Conversation came to a stop.

And, indeed, who could blame him? How interesting can a mop be?

Buying a mop

After this break, I worked it out. I bought the mop from Amazon (it arrived the next day) and ordered the bucket from my online shop, with some other groceries, all of which were duly delivered a few days later.

That was that – a shiny new mop and bucket set.

After thoughts

Why do we get so annoyed at such trivia?  Is it just me on a bad day? No, I think little things can set anyone off from time to time. And the fact that it is a small thing just makes it worse. You know you should ‘do better’ when the issue isn’t all that serious.

I wondered whether it is the internet. Not really, I think, but it does raise our expectations that everything is available quickly. And things often are. But not always. We need to learn that and build it into our planning.

Think of our mothers – or, even more, our grandmothers – who would never had the luxury of dealing with such trivia so quickly. They would have needed to trudge down to actual shops, often some distance away, to find what they wanted. If they found it at all.

They would be amazed to see how easy it is for us today.

A version of this article has been published in my book, The Granny Who Stands on her Head: Reflections on Growing Older

(A version of this article was first published on SixtyandMe (see https://sixtyandme.com/trivial-daily-nuisances-how-difficult-can-it-be-to-buy-a-new-mop/)

People who go everywhere by car may have many complaints – traffic, the price of petrol (gas), or finding a parking space. But at least they can expect to travel in comfort.

Many of us, however, are dependent on buses, trains, and subways (known as the ‘underground’ or ‘tube’ in London and the ‘metro’ in some other places) to get around. We do not always travel in comfort, despite such trips being part of our daily routine.

Getting a Seat

I well remember the first time it happened. I was in my early 60s and standing in the underground train, thinking about nothing in particular.

A young man in a seat was waving, trying to get someone’s attention, I assumed behind me. But I looked behind and no one was there. My brain re-jigged the situation, and I realised he was trying to get my attention. Why?

Of course, he was trying to offer me a seat. Me! Of all odd things to do. I was young and able and waved him away to indicate I was fine.

This was the very first time I was ever aware of being labelled as ‘old’ and it came as a shock.

Seats galore

And then it started to happen more often. Someone would prod me and point to a person getting up, indicating that the vacated seat was available.

Or they would stand up very visibly and offer the seat there and then. On tube trains, on buses. More and more frequently.

There was one period when I had a bad back and sitting down was very painful. I turned down the frequent offers. But once someone decides you need their seat, it is very hard to dissuade them.

Once or twice, I even took a seat, which I didn’t want, because it was too complicated to explain to the eager helper.

Who offers seats?

In my experience, women are more likely to offer a seat than men and older people more than younger ones. They seem, more often than not, to be foreigners, brought up in an etiquette that no longer applies here.

But I think it is happening more often. Perhaps there are more foreigners using public transport in London. Or perhaps Londoners generally are becoming more aware of the issue. Even young men, lost in their own worlds, do occasionally offer.

Who gets seats?

Most often, it seems to be older women who are offered seats. And anyone with a cane or otherwise visibly disabled. I know that when I have a cold or am generally under the weather, I get offered one more readily. I assume it is because I am looking older.

Older men sometimes get one. My husband actually needs one more than I do, because of a bad knee. If we are together, I will try to ensure he gets one, although it is difficult to persuade him.

And sometimes women with children or pregnant women get offered a seat, but the latter are complicated as they might just be overweight.

I know that nearly 40 years ago, I wasn’t offered a seat when I was nine months pregnant and there was no mistaking it.

Last week, I watched a woman with a guide dog get on a bus and two people vacated a double seat to allow her to sit with the dog next to her. I wondered how the dog knew what was going on. But even more, I wondered how the dog knew which bus to get on.

In any case, the older I get, the more I welcome an offered seat. It is no longer a surprise, but a wonderful relief to get off my feet.

This was first published by SixtyandMe.com