Abakhan & Peggy's Extraordinary Recall

This Sunday we set off for the Deeside Estuary to find a place which has a huge reputation amongst anyone who knits, sews or does any sort of crafting. In a former life, I was very involved in the Operation Christmas Child shoebox appeal and many of the volunteers who made goods for the shoeboxes loved this place and visited from all over the UK.

The Abakhan fabrics, hobbies and craft centre is the attraction of many coach parties and visitors from all the over the UK. It was started by the Abakhan family over thirty years ago and I remember it in my teens as a place where dressmakers flocked to as it sells some of its fabric by weight not length.

As well as a successful 'hobbyist' retail outlet it is also a site of considerable local historic interest, the company has taken great care to preserve the buildings resulting in the presentation of an award by children’s play area was added. With tea at £1.40 a cup it was a pleasing destination for us despite it being some years since my elderly companions have picked up a knitting needle.

It has to be said that the site – not too far from Saint Winifred’s Well (the fascinating story of which is for another post another time) is in a rather unlovely part of the coast, but I can’t help but admire the area’s determination to succeed. There is the Greenfield Heritage site, a regular Sunday Market and lots more on offer, despite the broken down buildings and the ugly hulk which has had so many set-backs that is ‘Fun Ship’ at Mostyn.

The drive home towards Chester is enlivened by the beauty of the estuary and the way that it has so

The Dee Estuary viewed from the A55 homewards
towards Chester

many colours embedded in its environs. Our conversation drifts and Peggy tells us about the happening in the lives of people she know and who she met that week.

I do greatly admire Peggy’s constant ability to remember people and their family connections. The other day she was sitting on a bus next to a middle-aged chap and passed the time of day. Then she said to him, “Are you Edna’s son?” and he looked at her in surprise and said that he was. Edna was someone she had known long ago and had actually recognised him as this woman’s son from over 50 years ago.

Sadly, apart from being a good way to make a bus journey go quickly, Peggy's talents go largely unnoticed and underused. She would have made a fantastic networker in today’s world and how she would have loved and taken advantage of LinkedIn, Friends Re-united and Face Book. But mostly we tend to ignore this tremendous flair she has for remembering all the people she has met in her life.

My husband, who has a very poor memory for faces and people, is always at a loss when she asks him if he remembers Rosemary who was in Primary School with him. Or tells us that the driver of the bus which took his brother Dave down to meet his cruise at Southampton was the nephew of Alan who used to be in school with him…..

Peggy, who seemingly remembers the
name of every person she has ever
met

Perhaps some of these connections will always remain buried only to be revived by people like Peggy who have no real way of recording them. Perhaps you suspect, as I do, the internet and digital media will somehow lose and swallow up our blogs and precious photographs.

Last week however, I saw a really good idea which goes a small way to solve the problem of lost family memories. Family Legacy Cards* are a way of encouraging people to write down their memories, family stories and history. They are printed on long-lasting - printed on special paper with a minimum longevity of 200 years. The cards have different themes and thought provoking front covers, intended to rouse different memories. Christmas sorted!

My lasting thought is that it is sad that are not more people like Peggy in the world as we may pass people in the street to whom we might have an interesting connection or to whom we are related and never even know about. I resolve to talk to people a bit more and stop being so insular, you never know I might discover a connection.....

 

*Disclaimer Disclosure: I have not been given any free goods to recommend this product nor have I any connection to the company.

To Shop is To Do

I often ponder the difference between the ways that women and men view shopping. I have come to the conclusion that for women, ‘shop’ is a verb; we shop, we take time over the activity and we may or may not end up with something – whether we needed it or not. For most men I think that ‘shop’ is a noun. The shop is there to get what you want and then you buy it and go home.

For this reason, my husband never accompanies us on our Nice Under Glass trips if we are going anywhere near shops. It is no matter, men in shops flap around and get in the way like fish at the bottom of a wardrobe. But for the grannies and me, pottering around a good shop or two, is a pleasure. As autumn draws in and Christmas beckons shopping becomes a richer experience.

This of course is not just on Sundays. As Jo and Peggy get older shopping is one of their main reasons for getting out of the house and having a need for something - be it a loaf of bread or a pint of milk - is a good excuse. Mum sometimes tells me forlornly that she went to town, ‘but I didn’t really want anything’. Peggy often only goes to meet with her friend and not shop as she can’t carry things home.

But living through a World War means that the elderly have a loathing of wasting anything and are probably more careful shoppers than my generation. So it not often that we actually purchase anything on our Sunday afternoons. No, the shopping we do is all in the eye, but it is still shopping to my mind. What we do is what I think of as like extreme window shopping. We look, we ask, we feel we even try on… but we rarely buy. But it is none the less pleasurable for that.

There are days when only a bit of shopping will do. When we have spent a few of our Sunday afternoons doing worthy walks and cultural activities like a visit to the local National Trust or  lazily sitting in the car letting tarmac fly by beneath us viewing the beauty of the countryside, then a 'bit of a shop' is just what we need. It's also quite a good place to go if it’s raining.

We check our handbags for our bags for life and we're all set to go. If I've been organised I have told them in advance and the grannies are armed with their lists for the final visit to a supermarket (as food shopping is quite different).

Ready to shop:
Peggy & Mum at Eagles Meadow

A short easy drive along the A55 is Broughton Retail Park which has the somewhat perfect design of a large car park surrounded by shops. The Fontanella café in Tesco at Broughton holds the record for the cheapest cup of tea – just £1 – it’s in a pot too.There is also Eagles Meadow in Wrexham which has an M&S and many opportunities for a cup of tea, but the car park is very expensive.

So another afternoon comes to a close and we reflect on the things we have seen. We often pretend that we will buy a particular item 'next time', but the unspoken thought probably passes through all our minds.... shopping is just another very interesting walk.

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Erddig's Place in a Child's Memories

....and the band played on...
Erddig's Apple Festival Oct 2014

The large country house and its surrounding estate, Erddig Hall served as a backdrop for many of us growing up in the town. My generation knew it when it was in a state of sad decline in the 1960s. This once grand house was cracked and literally falling down around the ears of its last owner, Philip Yorke. My impression had always been that he had a sad end to his life – living his days in one tiny back room with a black & white TV surrounded by the remnants of the former glory days of the house.

However, this was not the case, as the facts (unknown to me at the time) have emerged as I research this piece. Philip, as the last surviving Yorke, had actually started negotiations with the National Trust to hand it over to them in the 70s and, restored, it opened to the public in 1977 just a year before Philip died – so he lived to see the wonderful transformation begin. Now it is one of the jewels in the National Trust’s crown, illustrating perfectly the relationship between the servants and the family down the ages. It has a fascinating array of pictures, antique furniture and soft furnishings and extensive well-maintained gardens and grounds.

But as a child who lived nearby in the 1970s for me, it always felt like a somewhat hellish place. Rumours of the eerie ‘cup & saucer’ being haunted by a child who once drowned (untrue I think) there cowed my childish imagination, not helped by the muted banging which could sometimes be heard nearby. The river sometimes ran blood red. Add to this memories of a bloody afternoon when my middle sister, (always the one to get into scrapes) gashed her foot on glass in the river when we had trespassed there for a picnic.

But forward to the 1990s when Mum, newly widowed, became a room steward at Erddig. She has been a stalwart volunteer there twice a week ever since. Thus, she has an encyclopaedic knowledge

A display of the various apples grown
on the Erddig Estate

of the place and is always ready to take us there when we are short on anything to do. Even better, she knows she is valued and needed and at 92 that is a rare thing.

Erddig is a splendid place to take any elderly person on a Sunday afternoon. The grounds are perfect for an afternoon stroll and there are rare fruit trees and formal 18th Century Gardens of great historical importance. But you don’t need to have a knowledge of garden history to enjoy them as the NT puts on special days such as Teddy Bears Picnics, Christmas Fairs, walks and markets.

The first weekend in October is reserved for the Apple Festival, so for once, the suggestion for our ‘Nice Under Glass’ trip came from Mum and so we made our way along the long country lanes to get to the house which is just 2.5 miles the town centre. The band played and the unseasonable sun shone as people sat in deck chairs and queued for tea. The smell of the apples belied the sunshine with the promise of the Autumn to come.

As I looked up at Erddig's great façade I reflected how my feelings for the place have changed. As a child its very name gave me nightmares, but now thanks to the stories of a happy and wonderful place that my Mum regales us with every week and the knowledge that it has given her a reason to live…. well, I have real reason to be grateful to it and I expect the many thousands of visitors would agree for reasons of their own.

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Loggerheads and King Arthur’s Unlikely Leap

I am aware that my last few posts have been wandering off the primary objective of the blog - to give people ideas about places to take the elderly for a short afternoon out. So this week I will redress the balance and ask you to take one of the many roads out of Wrexham towards Mold and thence the A494 towards Ruthin.

On a day like today, we bask in the smugness that only a sunny day in mid-September can bring. We talk about the strength of the sun and the pleasantness of riding through the countryside. It is indeed, 'nice under glass' as we are warmed through the glass of the car by the sun giving its last display before autumn must surely take hold.

We pass the standing stone that is known as Carreg Carn March Arthur - The Stone of Arthur’s hoof. Like many areas in the UK, Wales has associations with the ubiquitous King Arthur. The stone is said to bear the hoof print of King Arthur's horse as he leapt from a nearby cliff to escape the invading Saxons. Although my preferred version – the best legends always have to have a magical quality about them – is that the horse leapt from the adjacent Moel Famau mountain to thus mark the old Flintshire/Denbighshire boundary - presumably without breaking its neck.

As we come in sight of the mighty Moel Famau with its iconic Jubilee Tower on the top, we turn right into Loggerheads Country Park. Mum tells me that Loggerheads used to be run by the old Crosville bus company who bought it in the 1920s to run bus tours from Liverpool. They handed it over in the 1970s and now it is run by Clwyd CC. It has a real draw for walkers of all abilities as Loggerheads is the starting point for walks which explore the rolling gentle hills of Clwydian Range. There are many times when I have dragged myself there footsore, weary and happy having completed another 6 miler.

Lovely flat, even walk through the trees.

Our time of arrival was 3.30pm when many walkers were ending their walks with a visit to the centre. It has a good car park but we were still quite lucky to find a spot. As well as walkers, there were families with small children, buggies, babies and dogs playing on the grass with no thought of walking anywhere.

The site is beautifully maintained site at the base of imposing limestone cliffs. It has a lovely and mercifully flat, walk through the river valley under dappling trees.

There is the occasional bench on which we sit and watch the parade of dogs, children and all forms of life in between as they debate how far to go before turning back for an ice-cream or cake at Caffi Florence. We strolled for about 30 minutes before we went in search of refreshment.
We sat outside with our tea to take advantage of the sun I would like to say that we shared our thoughts about King Arthur and more on his legends, but we didn’t. But we did decide that Caffi Florence served up the best cup of tea we had had in a long time….

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The Case of the Disappearing Grandmas

Viewing the entire process of ageing is almost impossible. We see our children grow up and we watch our parents age, but rarely do we see an entire life span, as we inevitably die ourselves and (hopefully) never have to see our children's lives end.

I believe that ageing speeds up and slows down throughout our lives. The first 5 years of a life sees huge changes as the child's bones in the skull re-arrange themselves after birth and the child learns to walk and gain posture. The following years are often characterised by the child having to listen to the phrase 'hasn't he grown?' many times as they shoot up and out in all directions. As they approach adolescence their faces lose that baby cuteness and the change can sometimes be startling.

But past 20 and through to 40 the changes are fewer and far more subtle. I am often quite at a loss to guess the age of someone in that age bracket. Of course, we are getting very good at hiding the classic signs such as grey hair and wrinkles so I like to think that we look almost the same until we reach our mid 50s. Depressingly, I read that the age I am now-57-is the age at which it all starts to happen. But I still feel 20!

Similarly, I think that once the greying and wrinkling process has finished and a person has given up using the hair dye and the Botox, then it is very difficult to tell the difference between a 75 year old and a 90 year old.

Mum and her Danish son-in-law Steen
in April 2013

I look at photos of Peggy and Mum over the past few years and yes, there are changes, but they still look 75. Apart from one thing.... they are shrinking.

Mum's posture has always been pretty good and only recently has she developed the widows hump so characteristic of old age. She is also very much shorter and thinner. Peggy, who has always been a healthy weight, also says that she is losing weight. They both eat well and are healthy in most respects, but are diminishing before our eyes. I am only 5 feet tall, but I feel as though I am towering over my little Mum and as I am her child it feels wrong somehow....

They were discussing how difficult it was to get their skirts to stay on now that their waists are smaller. Action needed to be taken to prevent an embarrassing 'skirt round the ankles' scenario. So turning a negative into a positive, I decided this was the perfect opportunity to make a Nice Under Glass trip to M&S in Ellesmere Port to buy clothes that fitted - sorted.

They both agreed to this trip .... as one thing they have in common is that they believe that 'letting yourself go' is a slippery slope down to dementia which should be avoided at all costs. So complementary scarves are applied to outfits, lipsticks to their faces and regular hairdresser's appointments are kept. Their bodies may be getting smaller, but their pride and determination is as big as ever.

 

 

  

The Sad Story of Uncle Frank and Tea at The Plassey

Last day of summer  - Sunday 31st August 2014

The further our 92 year old Mum gets from her childhood, the more she seems to retreat back to its memories. Over our Sunday roast chicken this week, she brought up (in the random way that memory does) the sad story of Uncle Frank. She and my mum in law Peggy’s stories often go back to Wrexham in the early 1930s when their respective families knew each other.



Nana & Pop - hard working business people
who lived to make money
 

Mum was the youngest of 8 children of staunch, cold and teetotal Roman Catholic parents (pictured) whose only focus (apart from having too many children) was their fish, fruit & veg business. My only memories of them are the smell of Pop's tobacco mingled with the smell of fish and a complete lack of physical contact or regard from either of them for me as a small child.

Of her 2 brothers, Frank was Mum's favourite by far. He was very popular and well-liked by everyone he met. Despite an early aspiration to go into the priesthood, he ended up running the transport for his father's business. Frank was fit, strong and handsome and played for a local football team. Peggy too remembers Frank as someone special – the unspoken implication was always that Frank was the direct antithesis of his parents and he was that way despite, not because of, his parentage.

Although he attracted the attention of many local girls, Frank remained unmarried, until at 31 he at last met a girl and told my Mum that he planned to marry her. But then he cut himself shaving, contracted septicaemia and died in Wrexham War Memorial Hospital all within a few days. Legend has it that the streets of Wrexham were lined with mourners such was the shock of his sudden death and his huge popularity.

In the great scheme of things (especially during the war that followed a few years later) there are probably many more terrible stories to tell, but every tragedy of loss is no less terrible simply because others exist. All deaths (ones like this so very common in those days before anti-biotics) still mar and strike at the heart of a family life and remain there forever with repercussions throughout the following years impacting the following generations.

On Sunday, with this sad tale still ringing in our ears, we set off along the country roads on the North East side of town, turning right to the Crewe-by-Farndon road through Worthenbury and turning right towards Bangor On Dee.  Despite this, on a sunny day such as this with the green lanes surrendering their late summer wares of butterflies, birds with bounding flight and brightly coloured petals, the ride was pleasant and enjoyable with roads free from traffic. I idly wondered whether Uncle Frank ever took his lorry along these lanes on his day off with his new love and how little and how much has changed since then.

Our final destination today was The Plassey. Uncle Frank might have driven past it and seen its


Still smiling - outside the new children's
playground at The Plassey Leisure Complex

Edwardian glory, or perhaps it was one of the places on his deliveries list? A former farm set around a striking large red brick Edwardian house, it has successfully made the transition to another business entirely - a 5 star leisure complex complete with pool, shopping arcade and much more. As well as an a la carte restaurant (imaginatively converted from the old shippon) there is a small snack bar where we had our refreshing cups of tea.

A small silence ensued and I reflected that although Frank’s sudden demise was sad, at least he did not end up old and frail with few friends and only memories of loved siblings for comfort - he will be forever young. I resolve once again to treat Mum’s memories with respect as she relates her past. It’s the least we can do for the older generation. 

Llandegla Gardens in the Van

New Transport - approved!

We now have some new transport for our Nice Under Glass jaunts. Admittedly, when we saw the shiny white Toyota Hiace nestling in the foothills of Snowdonia our elderly companions were the last people on our minds. P and I had spend a brilliantly adventurous 10 days in a motorhome on our own driving from Sydney to Melbourne at the beginning of June and were now rather hooked. The new van we had found seemed perfect, but a bonus was that after the positioning of a small plastic step and a bit of persuasion (I am sure their curiosity to see inside helped) - Peggy and Mum were safely strapped in.

Perhaps its the addition of curtains, fridge and cupboards but they look right at home nestled in the back of the van. We could even boil up the kettle if we wanted and have our tea in a layby, but I had other plans today.

I am sure that everyone must have heard of the National Garden Scheme, but just in case you haven't,


the idea is that keen amateur gardeners open up their gardens and people to pay to go and look around - all for charity of course. Over 23M has been raised in the last 10 years - although it has been in existence since 1927. The idea of pottering around someone else's garden is quite appealing. Also, a sneaky part of you wonders if the day will ever come when your own horticultural abilities will produce a garden worthy of visitors... in our case I doubt it. However, I quietly tuck away the NGS in that little file in my mind marked 'Where to go on Sunday afternoons'... the possibilities are endless.

On Sunday 27th July the scheme was operating in the grounds of several houses in the village of Llandegla - including, I delighted to discover, some pensioners bungalows.

Despite being some 10 miles away, the village is well known locally as it has a huge forest with Mountain Bike trails - (there are also walks but a good friend and I got terribly lost there once and it put me off.) Llandegla is en-route to Bala and Llangollen (should you wish to go the pretty way), but us Wrexhamites rarely stop in the village which is some way off down a side road, so discovering an unspoilt picture perfect collection of houses adorned with flowers and obscure scarecrows was unexpected.

After parking the van, we paid £5 each (aggh! Peggy had whipped out her purse before we could stop her..). The gardens were pleasant and not too overwhelmingly tidy and unattainable. We were also pleased with the weather as it had been so hot in the week we remarked (several times) how pleasant it was to have a cool breeze... but still be in the sun. We also tried casually dropping the name of some of the plants into our chat, but Mum confessed "I only know daisies and buttercups" and Peggy admitted that her knowledge was limited to hydrangeas...

But we could notch this up as a positive experience: Mum had her stick which she could show to anyone who gave her a passing glance, Peggy saw someone she knew (her database of acquaintances is huge) and I had driven and parked the van without any problem. So we celebrated the success of the afternoon with the purchase of excellent cream scones to have with our with our (50p) tea in the Village Hall... now where's that plastic step?

Parkgate and its Mysterious Prom

My father's family were from Mancot so many of my memories of  days out with adults are of the Wirral Peninsula and the Dee Estuary area which is easily accessible, even I those far off days, via Queensferry. The Wirral is an area which has always had a certain charm, distinguished by lovely red sandstone houses and walls and many areas reputed to be 'posh' - the huge houses indicative of being owned by footballers and the very rich. But the place which fascinated me - in a scary way - was Parkgate.

The place has all the features one would associate with a seaside promenade. Parkgate Ice cream is famous and there are queues of people on fine days waiting to get their chance to lick a rum'n'raisin or raspberry ripple. Many benches line the prom and parking the car along the front on fine days has always been a challenge. The potted shrimps are a local delicacy and seagulls squawk and swoop over the area...... But instead of an expanse of sparkling blue ocean and the crash of waves opposite all this activity there is a large expanse of land populated by birds and vegetation.....

Parkgate before the water left.....

As a child, I remember seeing the hulks of boats which had been stranded there as the as if the waters of the Dee had overnight mysteriously decided to never return. As if, one day fishermen and holiday goers were enjoying the rich rewards that the sea had to offer and the next day... no water.

This, of course, is pure fantasy and the truth is that the water's departure was gradual. The port of Parkgate was once an embarkation point for Ireland and at the end 18th Century was a popular seaside resort. But the river started to silt up and became slowly became unusable as a Port and in 1928 grass was introduced to create marshlands which just stopped the water all together. One can imagine that people who made their living from the water watched in desperation as it became apparent that the waters absence would be permanent.

Lack of a watery view aside, it is still an interesting place to visit and perfect for a Sunday afternoon with elderly companions. Mum because it brought back memories and Peggy because it was a first for her. The 'prom' is of course flat and there are plenty of benches to sit on. Also if you care to stay awhile and look, many wonderful birds now inhabit the marshes.

As the front is now... a marshland haven for birds...
and elderly ladies seeking tea...

On fine days there also plenty of people for my Mum to accost with her increasingly bizarre conversation starters.... "I'm 92, you know..." or "She left a new butter dish there with my name on it".

There was even a rather good tea shop (called rather unwisely, I feel, given the proximity of the marshland) Mozkitos....all that is missing is, in fact, the sea. So we sit and pretend that the green marsh grass is yellow sand and the tide has only gone out to return soon and have a rather jolly time.

Parkgate is just 28 miles from Wrexham and can be reached via a pleasant drive through Chester or via Queensferry.

http://www.visitparkgate.co.uk/

Flowers for Mother's Day?

Its Mother's Day this weekend and I was almost knocked unconscious by the heady whiff of flowers as I entered the supermarket this afternoon. A huge array of blooms of every description await you this Saturday when you pop in for your Sunday roast. For flowers are the first resort of us offspring when it comes to this day (deigned by the unknown powers who control these things) that celebrates the person who bore us.

I do however, have a small dilemma on gifts for Mums, in that I don't always like to go to the entirely predictable. There are also quite a number of other people buying for each of the grannies and flowers are on the top of their lists. It has been known for flowers to be sent from Australia and Sweden so well connected (or should it be respected?) are my mothers.

Okay, pretty but predictable...but there's more....

So I have gone to the next resort of the unimaginative present buyer - M&S. I have bought Mum & Peggy gift vouchers (and oh, how pretty they are!), but told them that they are getting them in advance. I have also arranged to go to one of our favourite Nice Under Glass Sunday jaunts and that is the 2nd biggest M&S in the country. Not only do they get a voucher but the undiluted joy of retail therapy. So enormous is this M&S that we've been there 3 times and not managed to get upstairs yet.

M&S in Cheshire Oaks, Ellesmere Port opened to great local excitement a few years ago and is a fantastic place to go to - not just for the shopping but because it boasts that it is one of the largest sustainable retail stores in the world  http://plana.marksandspencer.com/we-are-doing/climate-change/cheshire-oaks

So it's a good Sunday Roast, then a ride down the M56 to the store, a good browse amongst the navy

I am a lucky Mum and Grandma too....

and white and comfy shoes, a swift survey of the fluffy cushions and leather armchairs, the purchase of a few ready meals and bagged salad all rounded off with a cup of tea. Perfect..... for some Mothers anyway....

(PS I have already had my flowery gift - and very beautiful they are too... thank you, my darlings...)

The Real 'Problem of Ageing'

I read an article (in the Guardian no less) called 'Embrace Your Years' Having spent a slightly

Slightly confused about our antics....

 extended time with my Mum over the Christmas season and come back from a trip to town with both of the old ladies, I was interested in what it had to say, as I feel that aging is one of the most challenging and sometimes frightening thing that most of us have to face. Indeed, said the blurb at the beginning of the article, 'Society has a deep fear of ageing'.

But I was disappointed. It went on to tell us that a study of 2,000 women worried about 'the signs of ageing' by 29 and that such 'fears' are commonly expressed by younger women than this. Adolescence using Botox, skin products and general hysteria all about those wrinkles. Eh? Wrinkles? Looking older? That, I feel, is the absolute last of your worries when you face advancing years.

Mum is (as she is never shy to tell us) 92. She lives alone, drives and does regular voluntary work, she reads - historical novels being her favourite- keeps up with the news and generally does all she can to stave off senility. A complete expert on the local National Trust property she still does tours and presents well. She long ago gave up fancy face creams or make up, (but incidentally looks at least 10 years younger than her age-but then after 80 who cares?). But she knows her memory is going. The frustration and fury in her when she misplaces yet another letter, forgets cancelling an


Mum (far right) is 92 but looks 80

appointment or loses her keys is so difficult to comfort.

At family parties over the Christmas season, she is of course the star, but she is on her own in her generation. She does not understand most of what we talk about - does not understand that in this new internet age we have access to any piece of information at our fingertips and stubbornly goes to the library to find out things. It is sometimes difficult, in the drunken and merry state we are in. There is a temptation to not take her seriously or listen properly to what she has to say. I believe she has long ago lost the ability to engage properly in conversations or understand what we are trying to tell her. She is in short, out on a limb at such get-togethers. But she bravely sits it out and goes around talking to everyone - still loving to be the centre of attention.

It was wonderful for her to have the entire extended family of 20 around - all  of her children alive and well with their various offspring to great grandchild level. But sadly, much of this is fading from her memory already and despite our plethora of smart phones, digital cameras and iPads we failed to take a proper photograph to help her remember.

My point about all this is that it seems that the word 'ageing' is most often referred to in the media in relation to looking good, keeping wrinkles away and keeping fit..... I think this is all a side issue to the real every day challenges and problems of being over 70. When (if) you reach my Mum's age, you will look back and thank the day that all you had to worry about was the odd grey hair, a few droopy bits around your jowls and a birthday suit in need of ironing.