I got an email from Saga, bless their cotton socks. I somehow expected it to be a free jar of cocoa, or a special offer on a nice pair of comfy slippers (actually, make it a free bar of chocolate, and take me I’m yours).
But no – they were trying to sell me travel insurance. There seems to be this vaguely ridiculous notion that almost anyone over a certain age automatically has a vast reservoir of untapped disposable cash, and is just waiting for suggestions on how to start spending it.
Replace every window in the house? Why not! Install really expensive solar panelling? Of course! Go on a luxury cruise around the world? I’ll take three!
One of my favourites are ads which inform you that there’s no need to worry about your retirement – just furnish details of your “£250,000 investment portfolio” and they’ll do the rest.
Listen, matey – if anyone’s got that sort of stash hidden under the mattress, they’re not even going to be reading your little advert, are they?
They’re going to be sitting on a sizzling beach somewhere in a ridiculously loud shirt, colourful drink in one hand the latest James Patterson novel in the other.
I’m sure there must be people who reach retirement age with stupid amounts of money going spare ... I’m sure there must ... somewhere ... maybe ... but tragically, it was never going to be me.
So I’m reading this Saga email, idly musing on whether or not I need travel insurance for an afternoon on Hunstanton beach, when I see that their cover includes up to £10 million for emergency medical treatment.
Ten million? Crikes alive! I know I’m getting on a bit, but just how many things do you think are going to go wrong with me in a fortnight to warrant spending that?
No, when you reach a certain age, things just change.
Only the other day I was sitting in the pub, trying to figure out if my head had just been turned by the pretty waitress who’d gone by ... or the fact that she was carrying two plates of really scrummy-looking desserts.
It was heartbreaking.
Mainly because I knew, deep down inside, that no matter how hard I tried ... I simply didn’t have room for two desserts!
There are compensations, though. The computer froze the other day. Trouble is, it just wouldn’t thaw.
Two hours later, and when not even headbutting the screen worked, The Other Half said: “Why don’t you try turning the router off?” And because I was by then desperate, I did. It worked. I still get the occasional short freeze-up.
But I’ve decided it’s the computer’s way of telling me I need a screen break. And should it freeze up a bit longer, well hey, I’ll just have a little nap.
If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em!