Having stayed up late to get all preparations ready for the meeting, I was rewriting by 8 this morning. I knew I would, I always rewrite, but you have to do the writing first to be able to see what could be improved. Meeting was cheerful and lunch afterwards was jolly. Ladies in their 70s were complaining that men in their 80s only want them for their potential nursing qualities, which I agreed was a complete bummer and have recommended non-commital relationships with younger men. Men are absolutely adorable but quite a lot of work, which an independent woman can’t necessarily be doing with.
I drove a darling friend home afterwards; I haven’t known her very long, less than a year, but I absolutely love her. She is funny and upbeat and stalwart – she’s actually very ill but shrugs it off and enjoys life regardless. She fell badly the other day and her son scolded her for wearing high heels when she is so frail. She said ‘pfft’ and sent him on his way, but admitted that he is absolutely right, her heel caught on something and down she went and she says she’s rainbow-hued all down one side. Her husband was ill earlier in the year; when he returned from hospital he was quite emotional; he said that he thought she would not be able to look after him and have to put him in an old peoples’ home. She and I both nearly cried too at that. They are a pair of beautiful cracked pieces of porcelain, who are happy as long as they have each other and they make the most of every day.
Many of my friends are older than I am, some by thirty or more years, and they are so wonderful. Most of them have been through some degree of hell but they don’t let themselves dwell on that and just get on with living.