I was having dinner with some chums last week, and we got round to wondering how we had got past 70 so quickly, and how much we had changed, visually. “I used to try and make myself look as attractive as possible,” said Mavis, “but now I just try not to look repulsive.”
I thought that was a bit harsh – old age has its own beauty. But what does Mavis do to enhance it? “The most important thing is to look clean,” says she strictly. “Your clothes must be spotless.” And everybody’s were. Except mine. I’d had a rather busy, knackering day and was still in my dog-walking outfit. Luckily, my mud-encrusted trainers and jeans were under the table, so Mavis wasn’t being personal, but I did have a couple of moth holes, a bit of unravelling in my jumper and the odd dog-hair and mystery blob stuck to it. But then I was with old chums – had I been going out among strangers, I would have tried harder.
But isn’t it difficult? I often discover, as I’m getting dressed for a relatively smart outing, that my best bits of clothing have a new hole/blob/sagging hem or some bit of ghastliness that I haven’t noticed, and have no time to remedy. Luckily, the white dog hairs are rare, now that the darling old dog has gone, but the moths have kept going, and it’s such a chore darning, mending and handwashing woolies, and so much easier to stay in. Then I can remain in the same raggedy outfit for days and weeks on end.
Fielding does the same. “I’m pretty good on underwear, shaving and not smelling,” he says, “but I’m not really bothered about the rest. In my youth I used perfumes and moisturisers, and wore spotless clothes and clean socks all the time, but now I’m the only person taking them off, so what’s the point?”
I don’t know. Although, that said, it is spring – time for a general clean-up and the end of woolies. I could spruce myself up a bit, do all the mending, darning and cleaning ready for next year. I could …
