Age really is just a number - Kevin Page

Imagine my surprise when I heard him say: "it’s for the old guy out the front."

Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief that laughter helps avoid frown lines. Page has been a journalist for many years and has been writing a column since 2017.

OPINION

A wise man once told me your age is just a number. It’s really all about how you feel.

I remember that particular conversation distinctly.

I was at the pub marking the 19th anniversary of my 21st birthday – think about it – with The Scottish Plumber, no less.

It would be fair to say we were rather deep into an attempt to drink the house dry which was proving tough going.

Eventually I’d had enough, peered miserably into my half-empty handle, and started to bemoan the fact I was getting old.

I’d stopped playing footy. Muscles and ligaments I didn’t know I had were starting to hurt more regularly than not. The hole in my haircut I’d first noticed a few years before had gotten a lot bigger. And now I couldn’t finish a beer, or five, without needing a pee on every glass.

Groan. Life sucked. It was basically over. It would never be as good as it had been. I was sure of it.

That’s when The Scottish Plumber, aka the Wise Man, uttered his memorable phrase.

Technically it’s not “his” phrase. I’m sure somebody very famous said it thousands of years before it cropped up among us two Wallys sitting at a pub late one wet Saturday afternoon.

But I digress.

The Scottish Plumber drained his glass, stifled a belch - as you do - and essentially told me to snap out of it.

Then he started to list all the good things I had going in my life.

In truth that didn’t take long.

He’d started to rattle off all the positives – loving wife, good job, kids all sorted... that sort of thing but then realised his glass was empty and he’d spotted a barman with no work to do.

In a flash he was gone, his words of wisdom trailing off as he weaved his way through the building throng to the bar.

As he went, I heard him say “Your age is just a number”.

He was right of course. And from what I recall of the rest of that night I snapped out of my misery, had yet another pee, and celebrated like a 21-year-old again.

I mention all this ancient history because this past week the Earth has gone round the sun once again and I have been celebrating the 40th anniversary of my 21st birthday. You might need to bring the calculator out for that one.

It has to be said life is pretty good.

I am now the same age my Grandad was when I left England 50 years ago. He seemed positively ancient to me back then. I suspect my grandkids possibly feel the same way about me now.

I have the occasional bit of memory loss and sometimes repeat myself. I sometimes repeat myself (boom, boom).

I pee less, mainly because I drink less. The hole in my haircut is now, well, it’s just a hole that doesn’t require any maintenance around the edges and the kids are all in good nick with kids of their own who bring me plenty of joy.

And, of course, I still have the love of a very good woman and the friendship of an ageing Scottish Plumber.

But sometimes you get reminded of your vintage.

Like the other day when I was standing in front of a counter in a store waiting for assistance.

It was one of those warehouse type places where there’s a counter at the front serviced by one or two assistants and row after row of items stacked high on shelves behind. You tell them what you want and they go back into the bowels of the place and get it for you.

Out front with me are two blokes. One is obviously a lot younger than me and the other is maybe a wee bit younger.

I place my order with the shop assistant and he goes out the back to find it. Unfortunately he can’t locate what I need so must ask someone else for help. That’s when it happened.

I can’t see him from where I am but we can all hear what he says courtesy of the flimsy partition separating us shop goers from the goods at the rear.

“It’s for the old guy out the front,” he says in a clear voice we all heard.

Now part of me was pleased I obviously didn’t need a hearing aid but the rest of me was a little miffed, it has to be said.

I mean he didn’t say “older”. He said “old”.

I looked at the other two guys out front with me who had heard it too. The young guy smiled while the other “older” guy looked a bit sheepish.

“Shall we assume he means me?” I offered sympathetically, which elicited a smile.

Oh well, I thought. It is what it is. Obviously I must look the part.

Later that evening, on a regular catch up with The Scottish Plumber, I relayed the story.

He laughed.

He’s not getting any younger either and has grasped a new challenge with both hands. Or index fingers as is the case of a two-fingered typist.

Injury has necessitated a change to the way he does things so he’s pursuing online studies.

But, as I’m aware myself, if you are not used to such things it’s hard to maintain one’s concentration for such an extended period.

The Scottish Plumber has found a break, of sorts, is helpful when studying online. His theory is he’s already sitting at a desk doing study so why move and have to go through the process of reintroducing memory foam seat cushioning to the shape of his bum.

So he just stays put rather than going for a walk in the fresh air.

Anyway.

On a break from his studies the other day he surfed the net and found film of a comedian who used his age, way up in the 80s apparently, as his gimmick.

Apparently, this guy was telling his audience life was still pretty good at his age though he was having some difficulty finding romance.

He’d joined an online dating site for oldies - carbon dating – and was busily messaging away.

It was taking some getting used to, he admitted, but he’d finally plucked up the courage and asked a lady for her number.

“120 over 80″ she replied, offering up her blood pressure reading.

Just goes to prove the point doesn’t it? Age really is just a number.