Tuesday, 20 March 2012

TO THE LADIES OF YGL

Is 50 the new 30?  If it  isn't, I think it should be.  Lets face it at 50, you no longer plan your social life around babysitters, you can do within reason, strike out 'within reason`, pretty much whatever you want.  I have substituted the word pretty for feck, which I want to use profusely later in this rant.

If we have screwed our loafs (or should that be loaves Val?) we should have enough spare cash to lunch out every day, shop in Evans, and take flower arranging classes in the evening.  We should be retired, or semi retired, or working voluntarily out of the goodness of our hearts.  (High five Cherub, we may not always get on, but I like the cut of your jib).  At our age, most of us can't be bothered with all that sort of thing, and would rather have a 'tame', 'yes dear' type hushand like Richard Bucket - you can tell you are getting old when you see Hyacinth's husband as the ideal man. But I digress, as much fun as the days of going to bed, saying 'fuck or fight' were - you have faced the harsh reality of having to buy new furniture.  It takes all the fun out of it when you can't throw things without having to watch out for the new plasma tv and the leather corner unit.       

But I digress, what is the ideal life for a 50 plus women?  Should we stay at home and dote over the kids and grandkids, or should we take off on wild exotic holidays and come home newly engaged to a Massai Warrior?  Some of us regain our wits when the hormones butt out, but others totally throw caution to the wind. I can't say I blame the caution to the wind lot, that old biblical 'three score years and ten', grows ever nearer and if you get the urge to put a cat in a bin, you go girl, (as long as no animals are harmed in the making of the video).  

I think GP's should hand out 'get out of jail free' cards to all menopausal women.  Nothing complicated, maybe something along the lines of 'temporarily deranged' that can be flashed at officers of the law if needs be. Even we, cannot predict our erratic mood swings, so legally, we could get away with murder.  Though I don't suggest anyone try this at home.  If you get the urge to sneak up behind him with an ice pick the next time he asks for a cup of tea, the relationship is pretty much over.  Get out quick, because you might be way too decrepid to do any fun stuff by the time they release you.

I definitely think there is a tie in between the hormones going, and the sense returning ?  Whilst young and gorgeous, our need for a 'mate' ignores the warning signals from our brain.  We want the prince charming, our childhood promised us, the rose covered cottage and the happy ever after.  For some reason, we are convinced that the posturing semi homo sapien displaying his dance moves underneath a glitter ball would make an ideal future life partner.  Of course the more sensible among our species honed in on the more prestigious of the hunter and gatherers, the ones with the massive piles of nuts, and they are the ones who now live in big houses and belong to the WI. 

I actually have a theory that women, or their bodies without their consent, have a primaevil, genetic need to procreate, and for some reason, we think that the prancing orangotan making an ejit of himself on the dancefloor would be the ideal mate and father of our future children.  Our eyes and brain see babbling baboon, but our ovaries see alpha male, and while we are still fertile, the ovaries win every time.  

Well, justing musing, and grieving the loss of me mojo.  I knew it had gone when I started to think of Brad Pitt as a nice boy.  However, all is well, phew, the sight of George Clooney in handcuffs was just too much.......

17 comments:

  1. I thought my thirties were my best time Bell, got rid of the hubby and found myself a toyboy, sex went from once a month if he was lucky to 3 times a night, bloody exhausting but great fun and I didn't have to even think about dieting lol.

    My forties were a bit of a non event really, spent most of it working far too hard and then got hormonal and my body suffered all kinds of horrors, stuff my mother never told me which I could have done with being warned about, don't remember her having to pluck her chin or having to stick her head in a fridge.

    My fifties didn't start off too well and there were quite a few mornings where if I woke and nothing hurt I thought I must have died in the night, I gave in for a long time and turned into a bit of a frump, it was comfy not having to bother with make up and clothes that didn't have elasticated waistbands I quite liked the freedom of being a bit batty but I've suddenly got a second wind, not sure exactly why or where its come from, maybe I'm still exactly the same as I was but dementia has started to set in so I'm imagining it all but the future is definitely looking brighter, cant drink like I used to be able to so cant use that as an excuse for behaving badly anymore but I'm sure I'll think of something lol.

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    1. I like the sound of you Bev.

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    2. Yet another interesting , fun read.

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  2. LOL Bev, you are lucky you only have the one chin!

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  3. Brilliant Bell, as ever you made me laugh.

    However, as a woman who is clinging to her 40's with an ever loosening grip, whilst in the throws of trying to organise her wedding (groom has decided it's all just to much and suddenly develops hearing problems as soon as flowers and caterers are mentioned) I am wondering If I would be able to qualify for the 'batty' status?

    While hormones seem to be playing games with me right now, and a recent diagnosis of diabetes has made the weight drop off in tons (not allowed sweet things or carbohydrates) occasionally the idea of chasing folk down the road with a pick axe seems a sublime option (names have been omitted to protect the vulnerable). As the big 50 looms closer, it is refreshing to think it could be the new 30 and I may (with my hormones permission) suddenly feel part of the human race again.

    Judie xxx

    Had to do the anonymous thing as I can't be bothered working out how to put my name up there. I could have gone by my blog, but then a diagnosis of batty may have been mandatory.

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    1. Hi Judie, hope all the wedding plans are going well. As for your fella, I think the male species develop selective hearing during babyhood. I remember asking my toddler son not to put my lighter down the loo and flush it, but he did anyway.

      Sorry to hear about the diabetes, and hope you can adapt to it ok. Take care xxx

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  4. so many women now have younger men...now why didnt i think of that then...we, in my day , went for a man ...a real man..he had to be at least 3/4 years older..mine is just 5 years older..but naa i wouldnt change him for the world.
    besides there is not another man who would or could put up with me.
    i can take off in my car anyday any time...and dinner will be on the table when i return.
    bell i forget all about the menopause or even sex..at my age all that weird stuff is long gone...actually i forget what day it is most days.
    who was it that said he couldnt remember anything until lunch time..and then it was time for his nap.
    im sure it will come to me soon.
    great reading your blogs, bell and your input bev.
    its still good though having ones own teeth and hair...wherever it grows.

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  5. HEYYYYYYYYYYY ..great blog....I almost identify with every word you wrote...except...I'm not a bit like that...I go to bed for sex and sex alone..no flipping sleep for me girl..and he better perform big time...I demand nothing but good quality sex..(I'm in my 60's now and go for quality not quantity although quantity is good too..but quality wins every time for me) I dont like sweaty though..well not unless it is actually clean sweat..not smelly sweat...I dont like too much snogging because you can get a rash on your chin too...I had the same problem as a teenager when catching the bus to work on a Monday morning and trying to hide the almost permanent rash on me chin...no acne for me -- just a snog rash....the bonus today of course is that I dont need to take the pill or get my o/h to go to the chemists...want it..do it...the drawbacks are I cant get into some of the positions I used to be able to get in to years ago...I get cramps on me hips..but the hoist helps...anyway doctor...oh...is this the doctor's thread? oh no...hi Bell...wanna sausage roll?

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    1. Ha, ha ha, Annie, I am writing Part II at the mo, hope people are reading these reaponses.....

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    2. Haha is that you Annie.. I want a bit of what you have.. my fifties are turning out to be probably the most boring time of my life so far.. keep trying to decide when I do a Shirley Valentine.. Sue R xx

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  6. ......wherever it grows, lol! Hi ya Bree. You have got a good 'un, don't think there were many like that around when I was nubile, or if there were, they gave me a wide berth!

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  7. You should do a piece based on "things your mother never told you" I always thought I had a very open relationship with mine, we talked about most things and I thought my mam was quite liberated for someone of her generation, not so I now realise, I assumed because I had followed my mother in carrying and delivering of babies, nightmare carrying, quick & easy births I would also follow her for menopausal symptoms and because she never ever mentioned hers assumed again it must have been a doddle, how wrong was I lol.

    She never told me a flippin thing so it all came as a very big surprise to me, she never mentioned hair growing where it shouldn't or hair not growing where it should or changing colour (ok I knew the hair on my head would turn grey) but the heads up on where else that happened would have been good, she never mentioned that as you get older hangovers don't just last a few hours but days or that the need to visit the loo shoots up by about 500%.

    As a result of this betrayal by my own mother I have decided to relay each and every pitfall to my darling daughter so that she gets no nasty surprises, however, I don't think she appreciates my willingness to discuss all these bodily trials & tribulations because as soon as I start telling her what awaits her she suddenly remembers something she has to do at home.

    No gratitude some kids huh!

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  8. Age is funny and a lot depends on what committments, bringing up children, running the house, working, paying the bills but then there comes a time, mine was in my 40s, when some feel free. Start all over again, more forthcoming this time, enjoying company more, the attention of a toyboy.....stayed faithful to hubby. mmm

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  9. In my 20s, I spent a memorable day ferrying fellow bolsheviks in a troika from the St Petersburg soup kithens to the Winter Palace to end Tsarist power and excesses during the October revolution.

    In the 50s I stood side by side with senator Joseph McCarthy denouncing communism and rooting out bolshies and those who spied for the Soviet Union on sacred American soil. With Elvis shaking his hips with the vigour of a enraged washing machine and America freeing resources to research the perfect hamburger, I was ordered to sabotage Sputnik - but failed.

    From what little I remember of the 60s - and if you remember them you weren't there - I recall smoking Thai sticks during an all-nighter at Middle Earth in Covent Garden where Pink Floyd told tales of Emily playing as I came down from a mandrax-reinforced opium high with the help of a little amphetamine sulphate.

    A decade later, dressed in safety pin couture and sporting a red mohican, I spent the nights spitting my way to the front of the stage on which the Sex Pistols, the Clash or Siouxsie and the Banshees demonstrated their mastery of caterwauling. Plain people came into their own in the 70s, a decade of downward mobility for those whose feelings about condom-conscious and responsible sex were as torn as their jeans and t-shirts.

    In the 80s I skinned my head, slipped into steelcapped Doc Martens boots and kicked the living faeces out of non-white and non-heterosexual members of the human race. Blood flowed like a bloated Amazonian rainy season river during dark nights on Clapham Common when the hopeful feral woofter came out to play.

    I spent the 80s in hibernation, as the music was just too awful and as the politics of Bonnie Ronnie Reagan and Malevolent Margaret Thatcher promised conflict, perhaps WWIII.

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  10. I remember you, you vile demon.
    You gobbed at me and screamed "out of my way, trouble coming" when we were both heading for the stage at a Damned concert.
    You also spilt your half-a-shandy over the Vivienne Westwood
    t-shirt I'd bought at Seditionaries in celebration of 70s anti- counter-culture the day before.

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    1. Errr, can't say I remember, lol

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    2. The accusation (of spitting) wasn't levelled at you, Cristobell, but at the poster who spent his/her (?) formative years in St Peterburg and went into a coma in the 80s.

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