Body Mass Index

There are plenty of websites which will calculate your BMI for you, but I haven't found one which warns you to be sure to use your current height, and not the height you remember being when you were young. Most of us are aware that we tend to shrink as we get older, but I got a nasty shock when I found I had dropped from 5'6" to 5'4". This has a considerable effect on the calculation, and can make the difference between being in the safe range and being outside it.

I found this out when I went for my annual check-up last year at the Heart and Stroke Clinic run by my GP Practice. This year a new dimension has been added - and boy! do I mean 'dimension'? The nurse not only measured my height and weight, but my waistline as well, with a tape measure tastefully divided into different colour sections for different degrees of risk. I already knew that I was overweight, and I didn't want to be told also that I needed to lose three inches off my waist! But weight around the waist is weight on the heart, it seems.

So, after Christmas, I have to do something about this, if I want to carry on blogging for as long as I have something to say. Which reminds me, I discussed with a mate the possibility of writing my own valedictory blog, saving it in Draft, and giving him my password so he could post it for me when the time comes. Cute idea don't you think?!

Oh yes - the good news is that my cholesterol level is down to an unprecedented 3.8!

Jake Thackray rewritten

The crowning glory of my birthday, however, was Keiwit’s offering of a rewrite of one of my favourite Jake Thackray songs, The Lodger. It was a saucy song in its time - (you will find the original lyrics here: http://www.jakethackray.co.uk/content/view/121/26/) and is admirably suited to Keiwit’s interpretation, in which he most accurately conveys my message. If you can possibly find yourself a recording of the song to listen to, I recommend that you do so, as it will help you to appreciate Keiwit’s talent as a parodist. If you follow the link on the left of the page for The Jake Thackray Website, you will find a discography.

Judith's Ideal

My neighbours’ sons were so tall and strapping
They used to play outside my house each day
They used to come even while I was napping
But I’d never tell those boys to go away
There was Billy: he was silly
There was Robbie: t’was his hobby to be critical about my fashion sense
There was Brian: he would try and be so blokey but provoked me
What a joke he had no courteous intents

But they grew up: they reached a new maturity
I saw possibilities of having fun
I’d endured a life of boring purity
So I promised I’d not turn down anyone
And sure enough, they called my bluff
When I was chilly, little Billy
He saw me huddled, so we cuddled for a while
He was sweet: but not discreet – his wand’ring hands, had other plans
He made demands but that is really not my style

"Billy, go away! Don’t make a pass"
"Now, Billy" I must say, "Take your hands off my arse"
"Stay off me henceforth, you must be made to see"
"You must go further north – to engage me!"

Well, after all, I'm still young and rather pretty
And I have time to choose my perfect man
So preferably I'd go for someone witty
And I’d never just go out with what I can
I’m not snobby but then Robbie
Tried his luck, the little schmuck
But his lids they never did stray from my chest
I did advise him to my eyes, but he declined quite unrefined
So I untwined and made a citizen’s arrest

"Robbie, go away! Robbie you’re a pest"
"Now, Robbie," I must say, "I’m really not impressed"
"It seems once again, I’ve picked the wrong boy"
"You must use my brain – I’m not a toy"

I felt quite down, and worried for the future
I thought there would be no one there for me
I might not ever use my Kama Sutra
But then came Brian my lucky number three
He was perplexing, never vexing
Quite engaging, hormones raging
Intellect he could collect me any time
And it was good, he understood, with that fine man, a love began
Because he can share my great passion for a rhyme

"Brian, come to bed! I won’t ask you twice"
"Now Brian look," I said, "I can be very nice"
"I'll do what you like, I think we connect"
"That’s because you’ve shown me proper respect"
[© Keiwit -November 2005]

I was so touched by this tribute that I had tears running down my face as I shut down my computer and went to bed that night.

Birthday badinage

BIRTHDAY BADINAGE

November 29th was my 78th birthday. I don’t usually make much of birthdays, but this one was remarkable for an unexpected outbreak of versifying in my honour. To set the scene I should explain that it happened in an online discussion forum to which I belong, and where, because it is a small group, most of whom know each other personally, a fair degree of outspoken banter and badinage is current. I should also mention that an entirely erroneous myth has grown up in this forum that my mind is set on acquiring a toyboy! Keith D opened the greetings with:

Happy birthday Jude.
At seventy-eight
I’ve gotta say, dude,
That you’re looking great.

But then he added the following, occasioned by a remark of mine that ‘Callipygea’ would make a nice pseudonym. (It seems ‘callipygean’ means ‘having beautifully proportioned buttocks’):

Of things callipygean
you’ve more than a smidgeon
but no one could say you were plump.
Could it be that your gluteus
is really quite beauteous
or do you just have a nice rump?

Further comments and conjectures relating to my rump ensued, until I observed rather sharply that a change of topic was called for, particularly as my rear end is nothing to write home about - (or as Keith said "Judith’s bum is just ho-hum"). Later I apologised for being peevish, and Keith produced the following (loosely based on Elvis’s ‘Trouble’):

Woke up this morning
I was seventy-eight
Had to see the cardiologist
Had a lot on my plate
Had to take a lot of comments
About my rear
And you still expect me to grin from ear to ear

Well, I'm peevish.
Acerbity's my middle name
Oh yes, I'm peevish
But so far I've been pretty tame

Just one more allusion
To my backside
And I'll raise a contusion -
Take weeks to subside
You may think that I'm easy
'Cos I'm getting old
But I can tell you things, boy, you ain't never been told

Because I'm peevish
And I'm starting to lose my cool
Oh yes, I'm peevish
So don't mess around with me, you fool.

Wanna make me happy?
Then praise my tits
And maybe my legs
But no other bits
And the jokes about toyboys
Just get on my wick
Make me feel like clouting you with my broomstick

Oh yes, I'm peevish
'Cos you're all picking on little Jude
You better stop now
Or we'll have a reg'lar old feud.

[To be continued tomorrow]

When I go ...

Some years ago I attended a Funerals Workshop. It was about devising an alternative rite of passage for those who feel that the conventional funeral does not always celebrate the life of the person who has gone, or meet the needs of those of us who mourn them. It was a practical and at the same time very moving experience.

We heard from an artist who painted coffins, a woman funeral director, and a celebrant from the British Humanist Association. We learned about the law, finance, the process of looking after the body, and alternatives for burial. We also did some creative craft work and some writing, and talked about how we felt as we approached the end of our lives. We ended with a special ceremony which we had planned ourselves. Far from being morbid or depressing, it proved to be a life enhancing experience.

Nevertheless, there was a moment when I felt some light relief would not come amiss. There was a noticeboard in the room where we ate our meals, and pinned onto this was a flier for a local singing group called HUMHOLLER'N'SING. I found this phrase echoing in my mind, and out of it came the following verses:

Hum, holler and sing
Or do 'most anything
But don't let me go without a party!

Shake, rattle and roll
Or let the church bell toll
But don't send me off without a party!

Toast, tipple and feast
It's true I'll be deceased
But it won't be too late to have a party!

Wake, revel or fight
Whatever you feel is right
But DON'T let me go without a party!

[© Judith Taylor 1998]

The workshop was run by Welfare State International in Ulverston, Cumbria, and if you are interested in their Rites of Passage Workshops you can read about them here, although it is too late for this autumn's programme: http://www.welfare-state.org/current/autumn.htm

Incontinence

This is an extract from a report on the allocation of new grants, published in a newsletter from Researching into Ageing, which is a special trust within Help the Aged.
I support the charity because it funds innovative research to improve health in old age. If you are interested you will find it here: http://research.helptheaged.org.uk/_research/default.htm

But isn't there something odd about this paragraph? Even without the infant and ageing populations, I hope there are more than 6 million people in the UK who are still continent.

The title gets by, and it would be alright to refer to Continence Clinics and Continence Nurses, because continence is what they are both aiming at for the patient. But the last two sentences are absurd. You might as well say that couples go to fertility clinics because they suffer from fertility. Is this euphemism or political correctness gone mad?

Why should we be coy about incontinence? It is just one of the multiple impairments which many of us suffer as we get older. We are not embarrassed to speak of failing hearing or eyesight, nor of our joints ceasing to function properly. Incontinence in the elderly should be treated as it is in infants, as just part of that stage of life.

But perhaps it is in infancy that the problem lies. Many of my generation were raised according to the strict child-rearing principles of the respected Dr Truby King, who believed that from the word 'go' babies should be held out over a potty after every feed, and should be dry by day by the age of 12 months. So much investment was made in our toilet training as children, that perhaps we have never shed that burden, and feel that our acceptability in society depends upon bladder control. Fortunately, in addition to the medical profession, TV advertising nowadays is helping later generations to treat the problem matter-of-factly. And I'm doing my bit here as well.

What not to wear

I watched Trinny and Susannah doing makeovers for the over-70s a couple of nights ago. I really never expected them to get round to us real oldies, and I believe they had some doubts themselves about whether it would work. But it worked out pretty good, and I know now what I want for my birthday. I do break many of their rules, like putting comfort before style - (elasticated waists, flat shoes with big toe boxes etc) and there is nothing I feel so at home in as a check lumberjack shirt over a T-shirt with trousers.

But to be honest, every time I give any serious consideration to the possibility of a makeover, I come up with endless objections to justify not making the effort. For instance, there was a positively fearsome all-in-one corset in this show, and although I used to wear such a thing for special occasions a very long time ago, I cannot contemplate getting back into one again, even in the interests of lifting and separating once more! And then there's glasses: "She's hiding behind those old-fashioned glasses" said Trinny (or Susannah). "Oh right" says I, "contact lenses just wouldn't work for me" - and when the old-fashioned glasses were in fact replaced by fashionable rimless ones: "Well of course" says I, "the nose piece on those would drive me mad, I just couldn't wear that style". A new haircut, colour and styling: "Oh I could never maintain that with my hair" says I, "might as well not bother". High heels? " Oh my ankles would turn over in a minute"!

And yet ..... the new sparkle in their eyes, the new confident bearing, the delight of families and friends, the fellas who pronounced them to be "sexy ladies" again ..... could it possibly be worth it? And to be fair, on this occasion Trinny and Susannah even sanctioned a pair of modified trainers!

Hunks & Sexpots

Today when S-J - (my cleaner-cum-adopted granddaughter) - was here, I mentioned that I had a boiler service booked for the afternoon. "Let's hope they send you a hunk" she said. "Fat chance" I replied, "they only send the older, world-weary ones". So when to my surprise a presentable young man turned up, I let him in to my garage, then went back into the house to tell S-J that they'd sent me a hunk after all.

She grumbled that by not letting him through the house, I hadn't given her a chance to see him, and I opened up a connecting door so she could give him a sly once-over while he worked. "I'll soon tell you if he's a minger" she said. He was neat and presentable - and polite and helpful as it turned out - but she declared him not worthy of our attention. From there the conversation became too personal to be repeatable here.

**************

I think it was Sheila who started it all when I stayed with her and Steve in August. I got confused between a Game Boy and a Play Station, and referred to a "PlayBoy". Sheila accused me of having my mind on toyboys, and from there we moved on to speculate with much giggling on the possibility of designing a "Catch the toyboy" computer game especially for the mature woman.

Word must have got out in our on-line discussion group, as not long after Keiwit referred to me as "our 77-year-old sexpot" - me! Later, when I was asking about what I should wear for Sheila's Surprise Birthday Party, I said that it was not a question of hiring something posh, but rather of impulse buys hanging unused in the cupboard. Keith D, who likes to play the neologism game*, came back quick as a flash with:

"Impulse boys - things Judith picks up while shopping. I trust they're well hung, madam!"

I must admit though, I do play up to this richly undeserved reputation I have acquired.
___________
* where you change, add or delete one letter in a familiar word and invent a new meaning for it.