Oldest sister and I stayed with my mum last week. The NHS has given my mum an alert button on a lanyard, so if she falls and does herself a mischief, she can click it and get an instant emergency call-out (she’s already taken a tumble twice this year). She won’t wear it, though, so we had to nag her to put it on. Truth be told, I wouldn’t wear it at her age either; I felt humiliated enough when the dentist advised me to switch to Oral B’s Gum & Enamel Repair toothpaste. “I’m not some frail old lady!” she pouted…but you are, ma. Sorry.
Inevitable dig-up of family photos. “Look,” I said, pointing to a pic of young me, 15 or so, “THAT’s what I look like!!” Not this haggard monstrosity in the mirror, this…imposter. Death begins at 16, mate. Scariest shit was seeing a recent pic of my niece; I was 9 when she was born, now she’s a big bloody woman and her daughter is about to leave home to do a degree!