As Time Goes By

          Sitting out on the balcony in this spell of fine weather is all very well, but it has focussed my attention on a job I’ve been putting off: re-varnishing the mahogany handrail. My reluctance to start has been caused by knowing it would not be straightforward, as there is a partly-rotted joint to deal with. But, this week, being no longer able to sit and stare at it, I started scraping and found my hesitancy justified: the rot went deeper than could be fixed with a gob or two of wood-filler. Surgery was required. Reluctantly but meticulously, I cut away a two-inch section knowing that I would have to find a matching piece of wood and fashion it precisely to fit the gap I was creating. Only then could I begin to clean off the old varnish and apply new. I just hope the weather holds up in the meantime.

          One or two other things are not holding up so well. My second visit to the osteopath ended with my saying to her that I didn’t see much future in regular sessions, as the problem with my shoulder is related to ageing and I am unlikely to get younger, no matter how much I pay her. While she didn’t dispute my logic, she did propose specific exercises that could relieve muscular pain or, better still, prevent it. So, I now have some new moves incorporated into my daily routine of stretches designed around the ‘use-it-or-lose-it’ principle of physical activity. While I was diligently performing them one morning, my Other Half interrupted me to say that I ought to get a hearing test, since she had just heard on the radio that deteriorating hearing exacerbates the onset of dementia. “But I recently had a test,” I protested. “I think you’ll find that was five years ago,” she asserted. She was right.

          I actually like the soundproof hearing-test booth; it makes me fantasise about being in a recording studio. However, the reality is that the test demonstrated such a deterioration in my hearing that the audiologist felt I should consider appropriate electronic aid. So, he booked me in for a further consultation and sent me off with leaflets explaining the benefits (and detailing the prices) of the various devices. I trudged away, with the leaflets weighing heavily in my pocket. Yet another harbinger of old age, I thought. They’re becoming too frequent for my liking, as was plainly apparent to my OH when I got home and she detected a certain morbidity in my mood. It’s true that last weekend we had joked about having been to a young friend’s birthday party – the friend in question having just turned fifty – but it no longer seemed so funny. To keep my spirits up, she took me for a walk around the ornamental gardens in the grand estate over the river, where she reminded me that I often hike, swim, play table tennis and work up a sweat at the gym – all of which is true, but none of which requires the use of hearing aids.

          My gloomy mood persisted intermittently for the following day or two, which I spent posing the question “What is the point of old age?” concluding only that it is a natural reckoning for human hubris. However, joy – or should I call it ‘distraction’? – soon came to me in the form of an offcut of balcony rail, bounty from a neighbour’s refurbishments (we all have the same rails). I admit that, for a moment, piqued by the futility of life and the indignities of its ending, I hesitated to take the bait, but then I rallied and, with a silent cry of, “I’ll show these youngsters!”, I picked up my tools once more.