WARD’S WORLD: A new, weekly column by madcap inventor John Ward
There was a General Election recently - it was mentioned in a few newspapers I think - and it brought back a few memories of years gone by as a school kid as we lived near one of the polling stations and in those heady days if you were of a ‘certain age’ or infirm and certain political parties were aware of your particular persuasion plus you not having the means to get along to cast your vote then a car was sent to pick you up and the fun was in judging who voted for who and it basically worked out thus.
If they arrived in say a Rover it was assumed they voted for the Conservative candidate and if they came in a Morris Minor they voted Labour
If they arrived in say a Rover it was assumed they voted for the Conservative candidate and if they came in a Morris Minor they voted Labour although the other parties or rather party of the day did not seem to bother but there was suspicion about the tandem with the rear saddle unoccupied ridden by Gerald who lived at number 33 that squeaked its way down the street..
This brings us to the matter in hand as the memory of this event plus other events and the ultimate end product of this reminisce and its called old age. If you carry on as you are it happens so you have been warned. I know I won’t see 43 again - or 41 or 39 as being on the end of the row they were knocked down in a redevelopment plan a few years ago and a mini roundabout was built on the space they occupied but we look upon this as progress.
Getting to a certain age as it’s nicely referred to brings on other facets of life such as when you meet with other people of the same age range or ‘platform’ in modern parlance the main discussion points seem to be whether you have had the results of your tests and we are not talking cricket here, how long you have been awaiting to ‘go in’ for your operation, unspecified as the said test results have changed and it’s now a toss up between being treated for an ingrown toenail and having a new rib cage fitted or whatever can be inserted that won’t interfere with playing bowls or shove halfpenny at the local “Merry Tablepolisher” pub.
There are other joys to be added to the bewilderment of the person of a certain age.
Not so long ago I was approached in a shopping centre by a Sales & Deliverance Executive, okay rep then, offering me a stair lift which shows if nothing else how decrepit I am getting in appearance as if I needed any endorsement in my certain age bracket and I informed said sales person that it would be a joy to see him fit it as living in a bungalow could be tricky but give him his due he responded by asking if we had a wine cellar but I pointed out the only whine we have is the motor on the washing machine set at spin cycle 2.
If I manage the big 100 I expect to get a text message from Helen Mirren wishing me happy birthday plus a thirty day free, no obligation trial of seeing live zebra racing from the Johannesburg race track via InterBetDotCom WoteverGrabsYer.