The female orgasm was suddenly in fashion last summer, if the number of newspaper stories was any indication. Like the British say about buses, you wait for ages for one and then three come at once.

Oh dear, that wasn’t meant to be a pun.

So, what were these stories all about?

The Movie

It started in June with a movie, with the unlikely title of Good Luck to You, Leo Grande. This is the story of a 60-ish-year-old woman, widowed for two years or so, who hires a sex worker to learn more about sex.

Her husband had been of the ‘do the business and put your pyjamas on’ variety, and she felt she had missed out. Why was there such a fuss?

Among other things, she tells the sex worker that she had never had an orgasm, but this was not what was worrying her. At least ostensibly.

The movie is not primarily about orgasms or even about sex narrowly defined. Most of it concerns the two protagonists talking. And talking. And, of course, sex happens.

But it is very much about sex in the sense of two people learning about themselves and each other through their mutual interaction and intimacy.

And it is very frank about the female orgasm.

I might add that I thought it was a very good film, conveying the complexity of sexual activity and its importance to our sense of contentment with ourselves.

The Study

About two weeks later, my newspaper of choice (The Times, London) ran an article by its science editor about a study of the female orgasm, being undertaken at the University of Ottawa.

What pleased me was that the study’s population, more than 600 women, were aged 18 to 82. It was great to see some recognition of the continuation of sexual activity into our older years.

The research seemed to be principally concerned with testing the accuracy of two ‘orgasm scales’, used to measure orgasms for their ‘subjective psychological aspects’.

These were, in turn, an ‘orgasm rating scale’ and a ‘bodily sensations of orgasm’ scale. The women were asked about their experiences to see how these tallied with existing understanding.

Among other findings, the study noted that the female orgasm, as shown on the large screen, is not the norm at all.

We do not necessarily moan or scream in When Harry Met Sally style. Such ‘copulatory vocalisations’ (wonderful phrase) were voluntary and did not correlate with female pleasure.

Who would have known? Who discusses these things with anyone? My close friends would know I am acquainted with sexual pleasure (and vice versa), but we have never explored the details.

New Nomenclature

And just when I thought the topic must surely be covered for some time, yet another study was reported, this time in August, from Charles University in Prague.

Using a blue-tooth vibrator (the mind boggles) to examine the internal reactions of 54 women, age unspecified, during orgasm, they found that the actions of the pelvic floor muscles varied considerably from one woman to another.

As scientists love to catalogue and name, these researchers came up with three different types of orgasm: the avalanche, the wave and the volcano. Each label corresponded with particular muscle fluctuation patterns at the time of orgasm.

It certainly makes you think.

The research is on-going.

So How Does This Help You or Me?

I don’t know about you, but I haven’t a clue how all this research helps the ordinary woman in the course of her day-to-day life.

Perhaps women who are in the habit of faking it will change their ‘copulatory vocalisations’, although this raises issues of what their menfolk have been led to expect. You do need a certain concurrence about expectations here.

Perhaps women with no experience of orgasm will learn how to manage, or indeed recognise, their orgasmic contractions more clearly. Yet this seems odd to me as such contractions are clearly involuntary (not in the sense of not wanted, but in the sense of not being within a woman’s control).

But I still have problems. As far as I am concerned, all these visible (or audible) manifestations of orgasm rather miss the point.

It is not the exact description of what any person’s body does that is most important, but the overall sensation of pleasure, intimacy and bonding associated with orgasm.

Not to mention the longer-term impact of the whole event on overall well-being.

In my view, the world is washed clean after sexual climax and your sense of being at peace is profound. Can anyone measure this?

Sex and the Older Woman

And if anyone reading is wondering what this discussion has to do with your eighty-year-old writer, let me assure you that sexuality continues right on up the age scale, if you want it to.

Some people say that sex changes with age, but I do not recognise that view. Nor do various friends I have asked. And we are in our 80s.

There may be less swinging from chandeliers – if that was ever part of your repertoire; it never appealed to me – but sexual feelings and experiences have not changed for me.

And for the very skeptical, do read my article about my father, who started a new sexual relationship at the age of 90, which is in my book, The Granny Who Stands on her Head.

A version of this article was first published on SixtyandMe.com

We make decisions all our lives and, indeed, every day. Most of these are straight-forward and don’t require a lot of thought. What shall I have for lunch? Shall I read a book or watch the TV this evening? Should I phone up my daughter for a chat?

Yes, you may need to think for a small moment, but these decisions are not a matter of any agony. Whichever way you decide.

Larger Issues

But from time to time we are faced with much larger problems. We can procrastinate for a period, but eventually we need to decide. Such decisions tend to be ones that will affect our future lives in some substantial way.

They may be about housing. Should I downsize? If so, where should I go? What kind of commitment do I want to take on? Do I want a garden? And so forth.

Or they may be about life plans. Should I continue to work? If so, should it be full-time or part-time? Would I be happier volunteering a few days a week? If so, what kind of activity would I wish to engage in?

Or they may be about personal relationships. Should I try to mend fences with my oldest friend after a bad argument? Should I try to spend more time with my granddaughter, although it is very inconvenient to do so, as she lives a long way away?

And so forth. All very tricky.

What are the key considerations that will help us decide?

The Obvious Choices

Sometimes, the answer is clear and staring us in the face. Here is one scenario that I just invented.

You are thinking of moving to the granny annexe that your son and daughter-in-law have built with your needs in mind. You need help with a new disability, they want to look after you, and you are a very close family in any case. And you adore your grandson.

The decision is very straight-forward. A problem happily solved.

The Difficult Choices

But it isn’t always – perhaps not even usually – like that.

Often, there is some path that your head tells you is the right thing to do, but your heart feels it is wrong. For instance, let me amend the above scenario slightly.

You know that you need help, and you know your son and daughter-in-law want to look after you, but deep down, you don’t like their ways all that much. You don’t want to be thrust into their company on a daily basis. And your grandson is not being brought up in the way you like, so that he is not pleasant to be around.

It looks like you ought to accept their help, but you suspect that the move may result in a lot of arguments and aggravation.

What do you do?

Go with Your Emotions

I have never been one to tell friends or family how to lead their lives, because I feel such decisions are very personal and individual. I might help by asking a lot of pertinent questions, enabling them to clarify the issues.

But it would be very rare for me to advise them which way to fall.

I do often say, in the words of my husband who has said this for years, “Go with your emotions.” This is another way of saying “follow your heart.”

If you think about it long enough, you will find that most difficult decisions involve a conflict between what you think you ought to do and what you, deep down, want to do.

There is the sensible course, which everyone outside your orbit, would say “yes, of course, do that.”

And there is the course your heart tells you is right.

I say go with your heart every time.

Not Straight-Forward

But every case is different. It is rarely straight-forward.

You may be single and in your mid-60s and due for retirement. You are in good health, and everyone says, “Get out a bit, travel, see the world.” This sounds like sensible advice, but actually you love your work and enjoy the company of your colleagues and have no interest in travel.

Or perhaps it is the other way around. Everyone might say, “Times are hard, you should keep earning money while you’re able; don’t retire!” and this seems like the sensible course. But deep down, you are bored with your work and want to get out to see the world while you can.

Same scenario, different emotions. Only you can know which one is right.

And by all means, talk it over with someone who can ask the right questions. This can really help you to clarify where you want to be. Let it buzz around your head for a while.

Follow Your Heart

But do try to follow your heart.

It may not be easy. You may have to step on some people’s toes. It may cost you more money or mean that you have little money left over for anything else.

But every time that I have ever followed my head, I have realised afterwards it was the wrong thing to do. And when I have followed my heart, things have worked out, and I have felt at peace.

And peace of mind is worth everything.

Good luck.

A version of this article was first published on SixtyandMe.com

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 for Men

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

Words for the male body are easy, perhaps because they are readily visible. 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 for 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 the associated 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.

And, I might add, that is only when writing this article that I learned that the vulva includes all the ‘bits and pieces’, including the clitoris, – I had always thought it was just the part you could see from the outside.

Never too late to learn.

A version of this article was first published by SixtyandMe.com

I was chatting to one of my grandsons, aged 12. He has just started at a new secondary school, which ­– in contrast to two previous schools he attended ­– is roughly five minutes’ walk from his house.

After asking about his new friends, new teachers and what he is learning, I commented, “And isn’t it nice that it is so close! For once, you don’t have a long trip to get there.”

“Well, yes,” he answered immediately and then stopped. “But I did really like the long walk to the bus for my last school – both going out and coming back. It was a nice time to think. I miss it sometimes.”

That was a surprise. To actually value the time it takes to travel from one place to another.

And then I thought, yes, he is on to something.

What’s special about travel time?

Travel time is that wonderful time when you have no obligations except to continue on your way. It is ‘me’ time in the best sense of the word.

At its worst, of course, it is terrible. There is the regular commute ­– that dreaded routine of getting into the car and down to the station or catching the bus and then the train. At rush hour – too many people, often no chance to sit down.

In fact, we did whatever we could to avoid the emptiness of that time by filling it with something useful. Audiotapes in the car, books and newspapers on the train. Anything to help us to get through to the next stage of our lives.

No one can miss that.

Yet at its best, travel time is a bit of space to think your thoughts, smile quietly about some memory or simply empty your mind. Time when you don’t have to present yourself to others as you want to be seen. Time when you don’t have to respond to others in any way. Time simply to be yourself.

Travel time also gives you a short break between what you do here and what you do there. From being the child at breakfast to being the pupil at school. From being the mother in the house to being the busy nurse at the hospital. And so forth.

These are not small changes in your persona. The travel time gives you the chance to adjust yourself, to prepare for the oncoming role.

But We All Have Plenty of Alone Time

Ah, you say, but surely, we all have plenty of time to ourselves. We don’t have to be on our way somewhere in order to enjoy being on our own.

Well, yes and no. For many of us, our home is full of other people – whether siblings or partners or extended family or all sorts of other people who come and go. These people tend to intrude on us in one way or another, sometimes good, sometimes less so.

It is very hard to forget they are there.

If you go out of the room, you are likely to be pressed to do something. As a child, to get on with your homework or piano practice or even come chat when you are not necessarily in the mood. As an adult, to make the lunch or fix something or, again, to chat when you are not necessarily in the mood.

Or it may well be something pleasurable: “Come see this interesting programme on the TV,” “Come taste this pudding I am making for dinner.”

Nonetheless, it intrudes on those quiet inner moments.

True Alone Time

And even when we find ourselves completely alone, we are pulled in many different directions. For those with an inbuilt sense of duty, there is the correspondence to be answered or the bills to be paid or even the plants to be watered.

For those who are easily swayed by the things they enjoy, there is that programme taped from last night’s TV, that book you are enjoying or even a simple lie-down on that very comfortable looking bed.

Always diversions in another direction.

This is even more so if you work from home, as I did for many years before it became fashionable, because I was self-employed. When people discussed how they got to work, I always said I went to work by the stairs.

And go to work I did. Sat down at my desk and got on with things until I was too tired to continue. No time to stare at the walk and think.

In principle, I could have done what I wanted with my time, but I inherently felt that work came first.

Back to Travel Time

Which brings me back to travel time. For those of us who like to reflect, it can be the perfect time to do so. Whether walking a distance, driving or sitting on a bus or train, we are – in our minds – on our own, away, far away.

Sometimes, that is a nice place to be.

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.