This morning the sun was shining and I was expecting a visitor. My friend was coming to do my hair, she arrived at 10 o’clock like a breath of fresh air. My friend can comb and brush and curl my hair in a way that is quite beyond me. Yes, I know the fashion is for long straight hair, but when I grew up the mark of a mature woman was the neat, precise shape of the curls on her head. Such a woman was well turned out, ready to tackle the complicated business of living. It seem that a woman today has to look like a teenager without a care in the world, casual to the point of carelessness.
Pat enquires how I am and I bring her up to date on the small happenings in my life, although at present there is something very big happening. My brother is very ill in a hospice, I mention that he is sixty-nine years old. I was the firstborn child in my family, I was nine years old when he was born. Pat stops her careful combing: No you are not seventy-eight! There is astonishment and disbelief in her face. She stands in front of me: I can’t believe it! I have a great big grin, this is the best compliment I have been paid in a long time. Her surprise seems genuine. For the rest of the day I am smiling, an old woman like me, but at present I don’t feel old, I feel much, much younger.
I have been a teacher and a lecturer for a number of years. I am married with two sons. I'm interested drama, films, TV, books, society in general, poverty and riches and political systems.
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