Flight of fancy column: This month I turn 50- going on 35!
This month I turn 50 years of age, wow, how did that happen? I am nowhere near being a responsible adult yet.
All the wisdom and knowledge that I thought came with the passing of time, certainly hasn’t arrived yet.
I am still making the same mistakes that I have been making for decades: leaving everything to the last minute, never get anything ready the night before an early start, never making a to do list then forgetting half the things I need to do and never remembering to drink water along with the wine.
The list could go on and on.
I remember my stepson asking me “what age do I identify as?”. Not really sure what he meant. He explained that he is 28 but identifies as 24. So I can firmly say I most definitely identify myself as a 35-year-old, well maybe on a good day but after a night flight closer to 60.
The changes I have seen so far in my lifetime are remarkable. I write this column on an iPad, which I love and couldn’t be without.
I remember typing my first CV, at the tender age of 17, on my mother’s bright red Olivetti typewriter.
It was a thing of beauty and my mother’s pride and joy, certainty not something to be played with as I was often told.
Mum hovered over me whilst I tapped away using two fingers, I have just realised I still type with two fingers, keeping an eye on her precious typewriter and tutting with every mistake I made.
It amazes me how we lived without the convenience of modern technology but we did because we didn’t know anything else.
We posted letters instead of sending emails and used a phone book to find someone’s number instead of your contacts list on your smartphone.
It was a major technological breakthrough when my parents bought a push-button phone and had an extra phone socket fitted in their bedroom. I managed to talk them into letting me run an extension cable, neatly tucked underneath the edge of the carpet, of course, to my bedroom, so I could have a phone.
The joy of a phone in my bedroom, being able to talk to friends in the comfort of my bedroom not sat on the bottom step of the stairs in the draughty hall.
My first car was a bright orange mini with no shock absorbers and dodgy heating so not the most comfortable journey.
There was a loose connection in the engine so it didn’t often start first time. I became a dab hand at opening the bonnet tightening said loose connection, with a tiny screwdriver that came out of a Christmas cracker, and getting on my way.
It definitely didn’t have electric windows or SatNav, directions were supplied courtesy of an old roadmap which lived on the back seat. I always got to where I was going, eventually.
I must admit I am looking forward to my next 50 years.