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Penny Young: Unwanted emails as time marches on
Tuesday Time is definitely marching on. Checking my emails this morning, I noticed one from the Anglia Co-Op; an unexpected addition to the usual exhortations to buy cheap Viagra, have a certain part of my body enlarged or send complete strangers in Nigeria my bank details.
Tuesday
Time is definitely marching on. Checking my emails this morning, I noticed one from the Anglia Co-Op; an unexpected addition to the usual exhortations to buy cheap Viagra, have a certain part of my body enlarged or send complete strangers in Nigeria my bank details.The Co-op was politely reminding me that I really should be thinking about making my funeral arrangements - was I aware of their pre-payment plan?
Did they know something I didn't? I read on. Like it or not, they pointed out, planning your funeral makes sense; for example, if I had my (perhaps soon-to-be-unbeating) heart set on a horse-drawn hearse, then my loved ones could be spared the worry, uncertainty and expense of making the arrangements for me.
Oh dear. Perhaps the years of poking fun at Mr Young had finally taken their toll. Perhaps he was planning revenge of the most irrevocable kind; first a trip to his insurance broker to triple my life policy, then this pointed reminder to get my affairs in order, and then finally a little shove at the top of the stairs after forcing me to drink a couple of bottles of Sauvignon Blanc (well, I say "forcing", it would probably be more a case of "faintly encouraging me").
Or maybe it was simply that a thoughtful soul at the Anglia Co-op had seen the picture accompanying this column and thought I looked as if I was getting to the age where I really should be taking advantage of the Stannah Stairlift discounts and making the most of my free bus pass. Either way, it wasn't the most uplifting start to my day.
Thursday
At least I still have all my own teeth (apart from the ones that are filled or missing). Cheered by this thought, I went to my dentist, Paul, for a check-up and a polish today. Dental surgeries have definitely changed for the better - as a child, I remember having to descend into a grey basement to have my mouth clamped open for long agonising hours by a cackling old man with halitosis and a pneumatic drill.
Now, they have jolly pictures on the wall and Radio Two in the background and ask you soothingly if you're OK every two minutes. It's almost pleasant.
While I was waiting in reception to pay and make another appointment, I noticed a poster on the wall advertising a new dental service: Botox injections!
"Wow!" I said to the receptionists. "Botox injections! That's amazing! Have either of you had them done?"
Very sweetly overlooking the fact that I might be implying that they actually needed some cosmetic improvement, they told me that no, neither of them had tried Botox (although, I don't suppose it's something that you would tell complete strangers about, is it? It's not exactly like doing a bungee jump or running a marathon. I've never yet seen anyone wearing a badge that said YES! I've been BOTOXED!).
"Wow!" I said again. Things really have changed. You used to get a sticker and a balloon if you'd been well-behaved in the dentist's chair. Now you could buy the semblance of eternal youth.
I am sorely tempted. I bet with a face full of Botox the Anglia Co-Op would soon stop offering me special deals on horse-drawn hearses.
Sunday
I'm getting very concerned. I've just realised that the clocks went forward this morning, so I've aged a whole extra hour without even trying.
Even worse, I've just seen Mr Young put two bottles Sauvignon Blanc into the fridge.
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Weather for Peterborough
Sunday 12 February 2012
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Wind direction: North west
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