Ageing

The first appointment of the day was with the man at the bank.
I say man, but in reality it was a young whipper snapper who was probably the same age as #2 son, but delightful in his youthful approach.

Gone are the days when a summons to the bank heralded a meeting with the manager, a father like figure in a sombre 3piece suit who exuded gravitas and authority.

Gone also are the days, lost in the mists of time, when the interest on one's deposit account could procure all manner of luxuries.
My interest for the year on the present deposit account was the princely sum of £1.67. He suggested I use a different deposit account which will give me 4 times as much interest. I'm not getting too carried away with ideas about what to spend it on.

I spent the rest of the morning reading some legal documents and wondering which of the children I could trust to act as my attorneys should I go doolally. It's hard to contemplate one's demise while feeling fit and healthy.

At least they're all still in the will, given the full complement of mother's day messages yesterday, but I do remember one daughter, who shall be nameless, once telling me that if I wasn't nice to her, she'd put me in an old folks' home and not visit.

I am now suitably depressed, but daughter #3 has popped in for a warm up after a morning of reunions with school friends. Unfortunately she had forgotten how cold it was in Edinburgh in March and has come distinctly underclad for the wind and temperature.
Also my much younger f.o.m.ts is coming to cheer me up and hopefully I should make it for the next requisite seven years.

The tulips from my 'mislaid friend' have now gone to the great vase in the sky, but they have provided me with beauty and blips for a week. Apart from roses, they are the flowers that mellow with age, unlike me.