Cathy Stanworth: Trying to grow old gracefully is not as simple as it might seem

There comes the time when we have to accept we are getting older, however much we don’t like it.

I remember a conversation with my late dad about it. He said: “If you aren’t getting older, you’re dead.” Point very sadly made, Dad.

So I decided I would try to grow old gracefully, with a dash of style. Like those wonderfully chic older women you see walking the streets of Paris and Rome. Still thin, beautifully coiffeured and elegantly dressed, displaying perfect posture.

Not like some of our British counterparts. Stood at the bus stop, wearing sensible brogues, thick tights, a Mackintosh raincoat, topped off with that huge offence to fashion – the transparent, tie-under-your-chin rain bonnet, with their hand clutching the handle of their trusty shopping trolley.

Have these older women completely given up on attempting any sense of style? It looks like that to me.

As my 50th birthday loomed, my partner took me on a once-in-a-lifetime holiday to mark the achievement of reaching this great age. He assured me I didn’t look anywhere near 50. These two events were a comfort blanket to hold on to, with clenched wrinkling hands.

He started to buy me special gifts for Christmas and Valentine’s Day. I now have on my dressing table Collagen Re-inforce Lip Plumper, Supreme Cell Vitality rejuvenating mask, Revitalising Supreme+ eye cream, Victory Eye Serum, Crepey Eye Lift, Advanced Night Repair Recovery Complex, Collagen Re-inforce booster, Collagen Re-inforce 3D Advanced Face Lift Day Cream, Collagen Re-inforce 3D Advanced Face Lift Night Cream, Collagen Re-Inforce 3D Neck and decollette cream, plus perfumed body cream.

Obviously I need all the help I can get now. I did wonder about suggesting that he simply take me out to the back garden and spray paint me down with Ronseal wood preservative. “There. That’s her protected from the elements for the next four years!” he would say.

My birthday cards with the so much-not appreciated 50 on were recycled at great speed, while the huge helium party balloons in the same vein were doomed to be mysteriously popped with a pin, before being thrown into the bin, with the unknown assassin muttering darkly: “That’s enough of that!”

Over the year I began to notice age-related comments. From my GP: “I think for a woman of your age you are still okay to be on this medication.” At the dentist, on having to finally have a baby tooth removed, I didn’t mind at all when he said: “It is very unusual for a woman of your age to still have this tooth,” before he suggested a permanent denture. False teeth time already? Oh goody!

Then there was the appliance repair man who was very friendly, while bringing my washing machine back to life. He lived locally. Recommending a nearby pub, he said: “I know the landlords and they have gotten rid of all the youngsters now, so it is more for older people, like us.” Thanks.

Health issues have raised themselves. I now have “a touch of” arthritis and an associated foot issue, meaning that all my high heels had to be discarded, in favour of sensible flats. Any attempt now at wearing too tight heels results in the appearance of Hobbit-sized feet.

I started suffering dizzy spells from a damaged inner ear. (My mother mentioned something about it being a symptom of the menopause, which I ignored.) Yes, that’s another delight to be going through!

The dizzy spells are an after-effect of the flu, which must be avoided at all costs. Hence I find myself at a supermarket pharmacy to pay for a flu jab.

What first struck me about the very young assistant was her vacant expression. This was shortly to be qualified. “Could I pay for a flu jab please?” I asked. “Oh?” she replied, looking very surprised, before whispering to the pharmacist what I wanted, saying: “Is that alright?” to her. And this is a pharmacy that advertises walk-in flu jabs.

“Oh yes,” said the assistant to me, acting as if she had just remembered her lines from the school play, continuing in a high pitched, sing-song voice with: “Are you over 65 or under 65?” (I know that you get a free jab if over 65, but this wasn’t the point!)

After first registering a low point in my life, my second thought was: “OMG, just how old do I look now?!”

Giving her a half smile, which was all that I could muster up, I spoke slowly, so she could understand: “I am not over 65,” I said, holding her gaze. She paused and then replied: “I don’t know why I said that really,” before she tee-heed.

“Maybe it’s because you’re an idiot?” I thought in my head.

It has crossed my mind to send this little gem to legendary funnywoman, Julie Walters; the “Stupid Pharmacy Assistant” being good comedy material.

But then this would probably backfire on me. Julie would write back: “Thank you so much Catherine for this bit of inspiration. And I have the perfect comedy sketch role for you. There’s this older woman waitress, in a cafe. She has to serve, ‘Two soups!’”