Life has a habit of reminding us of our own frailty at times when we least expect it.
Feeling fit, strong and healthy at the moment I am still able, in my mind’s eye, to envisage myself as that twenty-five year old that stood on the edge of maturity full of confidence, bravado and hope.

This week has served to pull me back and remind me that I am not immune to the ageing process and can fall foul of the senior moment or three, just like anyone else.

The first ‘episode’ occurred when I was being driven into town. We pulled up at a parking spot and I reached down to my left hand side to release my seatbelt. Fumbling further down the left side I bemoaned the fact that I couldn’t find the button and was starting to feel like the hero of a Chuck Berry song with no particular place to go, when my wife pointed out that the seatbelt was actually secured on the right hand side.
“Oh yes,” I replied, “I thought I was driving.”
Scary!
Things got worse. I purchased myself a new hair and beard trimmer on the basis that the price equates to two haircuts from a standard barber. Now I’ve been using this sort of trimmer for a number of years but this was ‘state of the art’ with a choice of safety guards to suit varying lengths of hair and beard along with a dial to further increase the choice of lengths.
I read the instructions. Let me repeat this phrase so that it beds in: I read the instructions. They were confusing and impenetrable. Now I have very little hair but I cherish what I have left and was anxious not to make matters worse and for several days I was reluctant to trial my new toy. Eventually I resolved to test my shaver on the least obvious area of hirsuteness – my chest hair. I chose the longest guard specifically for long hair and turned the dial to what I assumed to be the longest setting and set to work on my lustrous chest hair. I looked at the results of my efforts in the mirror. It was like a channel that had been dredged through the Amazon undergrowth. I was horrified at the sight but the feeling of naked flesh where naked flesh had not been for some fifty years was traumatising. A week later and I am now at the itchy stubble stage. I have cancelled my appointment for a Brazilian – no way could I cope with that level of intimate scratching after five days.

Let me tell you of my final senior moment of the week. I was invited for an interview and was given the address along with an assurance that there would be parking available at the rear of the building. As I drove down the main road I spotted my destination on the right with a very large arrow on the side of the property with a sign ‘Parking at the Rear’ in bold print. I followed the arrow and turned right. To my horror two sets of car headlights were heading towards me – I had turned down a one way street the wrong way! I managed to manoeuvre into the parking area before the oncoming cars were on top of me. This faux pas was doubly embarrassing as I was to be interviewed for a driving job!

I decided that three senior episodes in one week was more than enough but sadly I now have to recount one more.

We are away this weekend and I have just realised that I did not have my razor with me – two cans of shaving foam but no razor. ‘No problem’ Libby reassured me, ‘use my lady razor. It’s not very good but it will do.’
I lathered up and started to shaving, observing how smooth these lady razors are. No dragging or pulling, painless!
Shaving completed I jumped into the shower and, as my first ablution, I washed my face to remove any residual shaving foam. My beard was coarse and gravelly! I couldn’t put up with this for too long so I jumped out of the shower to have another shave when I made a brilliant discovery – lady razors cut a lot closer if you remove the cover!

I am now sitting in a darkened room considering my past and more importantly my future. It’s a worry.