I try not to think about the future very much. I’ve got to be honest, I find it a little scary and it’s a fairly pointless thing to get depressed about because there’s nothing I can do about its imminent arrival. Every now and then, though, I catch a glimpse of my mum when I look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and I realise that I really am quite old. And getting older.
One of the things that worries me slightly, if I let it, is the thought of spending any of my geriatric years in a care home. It’s not the idea of a residential institution itself that bothers me the most, it’s the concept of being in the enforced company of others with whom I wouldn’t normally choose to spend any time. Being permanently around people whose interests and attitudes are very different from mine I would struggle to just be myself.
Who might there be to chat to about obscure music? About the youth cults of our formative years? About similar comedy, books, art and films? What if everybody else reads The Sun and wants to talk about Queen Kate’s latest dress and how they don’t like foreigners? I don’t want to find myself swooning with incomparable delight because someone’s offered me a chocolate digestive (‘New recipe! Extra creamy chocolate!’), I want to be able to feel excited at something a little more edgy. I don’t want to talk about the way the wallpaper matches the carpet oh so nicely, or how much Mrs Donnelly’s granddaughter’s new baby weighs. I want to talk about how amazing spiders are, or what people thought about Bill Hicks, or why Never Mind The Bollocks still sounds good….
Which leads me to… what will the sing-songs and arthritic knees ups (knees-not-ups?) of our future be like? There won’t be any "Pack up your troubles in your old kitbag”s or “My old man said follow the van”s any more, will there? What will our generation be warbling away to in weary unison as an overworked assistant brings the tea and biscuits in before our afternoon nap? Now that’s the bit that’s really getting to me. What if everyone wants to sing ‘The Lady In Red’ or ‘Wonderful Tonight’? I don’t think I could take it. So… do you reckon we could make a little deal, lovely readers? If we all end up in a care home somewhere some day, can we make sure it’s the same one?
My favourite rendition of a favourite Smiths song.
I want to be like Doris.
