ILLUSTRATION: MH JEEVES
Meeting someone in old age means you have been round the block a few times, up the hill and down again, seen life and love, relationships and work, probably shouted at your children and screamed and cursed at a few workmen who never turned up. Behind their backs, of course – you’re not daft, despite being old. There are some folks you have to keep in with. But, chances are you have, over the years, become somewhat bossy. I denied it for ages. Moi? Am I not the calmest, shyest, least assertive, most reasonable person in the family/street/workplace?
Miranda can be a bit like me – a right bossy Betty. While I can be a right bossy boots. The sparks don’t fly, well hardly, but we are as equally as keen on getting the other to do exactly what we want to do – what to eat, what to buy, where to go, whom to invite for supper, what to wear.
We have just had a row about a cut on my arm. I fell and it bled for ages. She insisted I go to A&E. ‘Get lost,’ I said. ‘Don’t tell me what to do with my body. I have had it long enough.’ I shoved some Savlon on, then let the fresh air get at it. Looks horrible, but the bleeding has stopped.
She tells me how to wash dishes and put them away as if I have not done that for decades. And how to make the bed, make a salad, clean the kitchen. Yesterday she spent a long time telling me how to chop up a banana. However did I manage without her?