Appearance of Age may be Deceptive, Part 2

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In this post I cite a few more instances which demonstrate that the appearance of age may be deceptive.

 During the lockdown, my evening routine was that I liked the ten o’clock Sky News, ITV News or BBC News. Thereafter, I would watch press review on the Sky. At 11 pm, before going to bed, I would have a snack. But gradually, I abandoned the habit of watching the press review. I observed that the teenagers had just about monopolised the slot. Of course, sometimes senior reviewers do appear on the programme, and I enjoyed watching them, but their appearances were sporadic at best.

Another issue about the programme is that the female reviewers wore the best make up on the market and clothe in rich garments as if they were going to/coming from a fashion parade, while men appeared with open button shirts or T- shirts/vests, as if they had been to a picnic or returning from the gym.

I told my daughter, who is a columnist for a national daily newspaper, my predicament. I mentioned to her the names of some of the reviewers, whom I deemed quite young.

When she told me the truth, my mouth fell open in surprise:

The journalists were in fact all in their 40s, and had been editors of the newspapers. One had three children, while another was the author of numerous well-known non-fiction titles.

Until recent years, and before I had reduced my law practice to advisory work only, I would travel to different cities/towns in the UK. I commuted by train. One day a colleague advised me that as I was above sixty, I should buy a senior railcard, which would cost £30 and save me 1/3 on rail fares for a whole year. Before I travelled next time, after showing the proof of my age, I purchased a Railcard from the railway station’s ticket office.

I used it whenever I travelled by train, including trips to London, visits to our daughter in the South West and going to Southampton for onward cruise holidays.

After my wife turned sixty and before embarking on a journey to visit our daughter, we bought a senior railcard for her and boarded the train. After the first stop, a portly railway guard bobbed up and, punching the passengers’ tickets one by one, reached us. My wife had the possession of both the tickets and the railcards. She passed them over to him. He hastily glanced at my card, moved his glasses slightly downwards and peeped at me. Then, with glasses up, he checked the wife’s ticket and the railcard, lowered the glasses again and peered at her. He stood still. I asked him whether there was any problem. He replied:

“If you don’t mind, I would like to see the proof of your wife’s age.”

“Why?”, I sought clarification.

He explained:

“You know it is quite common that people use others’ railcards. Your wife does not look sixty or above.”

I said:

“She is grandmother of four.”

The guard added:

“I’m sorry. I’ve seen grandmothers of under 40 years of age”.

My wife, while pleased as Punch, tried to suppress her smile. To stop me further arguing with the guard, she shushed me with a forefinger to the lips. She retrieved her driving license from the handbag.  The guard moved his glasses up, examined it, thanked us and left apologising for the inconvenience.

The next occurrence took place quite a few years ago i.e. before our daughter and her husband with their twins (boy and girl) had moved from our town to the South West.

 They had a house about five- minute walk from ours. The twins were enrolled in a Nursery not far from our houses. Every Friday, I would pick them up in the afternoon.

 I went to collect them.

I parked the car in the car park and walked past the nursery gate and waited outside the classroom. The nursery nurse came out, saw me, and announced to her colleague:

“Janet, the twins’ great grandfather is here to collect them”.

I was thunderstruck and said brusquely:

“Do I look like a great grandfather?”.

She burst out laughing and explained:

“No. No, I was just kidding”.

“Your jokey comments were not a good style of kidding,” I complained.

She elucidated:

“The truth is that now and then we hold an informed conversation over lunch about you.  Always you come smartly dressed.  You are friendlier. More importantly, you show great respect to us.”

“Thank you very much for the compliments”, I concluded.

Later in the evening, I was not sure whether I should recount the trifling incident to my wife. For years she did not appreciate even cursory mention of any female stranger of any age. But, as stated in an earlier story [My wife “Suffered” from Glossophobia, Part 2, dated 7^th March 2020] I had a serious problem of not keeping things close to my chest.

Thus, I decided to mention to my wife the throwaway comments made by the Nursery Nurse in full.

 She jumped on the story. Guess what she said?

“You must be trying to allure the nursery nurses. Do you think that in your wildest dream there is a supporting chance of your success?

 She continued:

“Come rain or shine, you love flirtation, irrespective of the ages of the girls. Henceforth, I’ll be picking up the twins every Friday.”

I wished I should not have mentioned the incident to her, but the ship had sailed.

In my post repeated recently, The Naked Woman [R], I had mentioned that I used to attend biannual appointments with the renal specialists in the neighbouring town’s NHS Hospital. After my consultant had retired, I was seen by different specialists. This interesting event is about one of those attendances.

I was sitting in the corner of the outpatient renal department waiting area, just twiddling my thumb. Suddenly, I was all agog when I saw a young svelte woman. She was of South Asian ethnicity. She was wearing slightly above knee beautiful skirt. Her hairs in front were combed down over the fore and was carrying just a handbag.

I saw her and her face looked familiar. Different speculations reeled through my mind.

 “She might be a student. But the students of medicine reflect haggard looks. She   was not a junior doctor either. They looked preoccupied and wear stethoscopes. She could not be a patient. Had she been a patient, she should have reported to the receptionist. But the young woman had just said good morning to her and breezed past her, instead. She could not be a visitor, because it was not a visiting hour”.

Finally, I surmised: 

“She is very pretty and could be a Bollywood movie star. But why a movie star is visiting the outpatient renal unit?”.

The occurrence had taken place quite some time ago. Had it happened in recent months, I would have guessed that she was Miss England, who is a junior doctor and of Indian ethnicity.

Still confused and pondering, I was called and led to the consultation room.

I was surprised when I saw that the beautiful woman, I had just seen was not a Bollywood star, but was the consultant nephrologist, who had examined me once before. She was, using the words of the Prime Minister, a world beating specialist in her field.

I was not sure whether I should tell her my earlier dilemma about her identity. I thought if I told her verbatim, she might not appreciate it. But I could not exercise restraint either and revealed to her the detail.

 She laughed and said that she would tell it to her husband.

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