The View From Here – Peter Culley (29th)

Waking this morning I discovered, to my great surprise, that I am still clinging on to this tenuous existence at the advanced age of 84, while also being inadvertently immersed in the throes of a fractious and disagreeable General Election campaign scheduled to last for a further week to the detriment of social harmony. This knowledge was partly tempered by the realization that this was – nevertheless – a very appropriate time in which to review my own situation vis-a-vis its relationship with Shakespeare’s famous seven ages of man as outlined in his play ‘As You Like It’.
The Bard outlines his various categories by suggesting that, “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players” before asserting that one man plays many parts ranging from that of Infant, Schoolboy, Lover, Soldier, etc. Each role is given a short descriptive introduction lest there be any misunderstanding regarding its essential characteristics, and – by and large – these vignettes have remarkably stood the test of time in that they are mostly instantly recognizable to us in spite of the intervening years.
For example, the Infant is described as, “mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms” (remind you of your sleepless nights with your first born?); while the next stage envisages the “schoolboy with his satchel …. creeping like snail unwillingly to school”. OK, I realize we may today have to replace the satchel with a zombie knife, but you get the picture – some things don’t change. The Lover is pictured, “sighing like a furnace” and for those of us who can still recollect the pangs of first love, that seems pretty apt. I was about 14 when it happened to me. She was at least 4 or 5 years older; a stunning six foot plus blonde; totally out of my class. It was a case of worship from afar – I never ever got the chance to speak to her (probably just as well).
Us veterans will recognize aspects of the 4th category, the Soldier, “full of strange oaths”, “sudden and quick in quarrel”, even though I chose to serve in Air Force blue rather than the khaki dress of the Pongos!. One strange oath in particular acquired universal popularity, and is still prevalent today. Sadly, the world we live in also offers too many opportunities for sudden and quick quarrels also.
So much for the first 4 categories. We come now to the present day – that point in my life where my age and experience puts me on the threshold of the remaining 3 stages as outlined by WS and sadly the prospect is far from comforting. It may start off fairly amiably enough, but the trajectory thereafter is strictly downwards as I shall make clear.
Stage 6 is that of the Justice, described by the Bard as having, “fair round belly with good capon lin’d, with eyes severe and beard of formal cut, full of wise saws”. (The capon of course is a chicken offered as a bribe to secure justice in a dispute). Now I freely admit that my tummy (much nicer word than belly) has increased a little in circumference over time, and I have partaken of chicken on a regular basis (usually a result of financial constraints!), but I have never, ever sported a beard. As for wise sayings, I leave that perception for others to judge.
The penultimate reincarnation is that of, “the lean and slippered pantaloon, with spectacles on nose …….. his big manly voice turning again towards childish treble, pipes and whistles.” OK I do wear both slippers and spectacles, but I ain’t that decrepit yet (I keep my voice in trim by bellowing at the TV, especially during Party Politicals!).
However, even this vision of encroaching old age is a good deal better than the last, described simply as “a second childhood and mere oblivion, sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.” Bloody Hell William, don’t hold back, tell it like it is! No crumbs of comfort in that diagnosis.
What are we supposed to do? How do we avoid this scenario? Is the answer booze, an overdose of Paracetamol, or a trip to Dignitas? Should I simply emulate Amelia Earheart, or run for the Office of President of the USA? The Bard speaks of a second childhood. If only we could reverse the aging process and begin counting back down to stage one. That suggestion has its attractions though perhaps it is a bit extreme, and do we really want to go back to school and those pre-school days?
The prospect before us is dire but appears almost and immediately inevitable. No wonder they say the good die young. Perhaps they should really say that the young who die are the lucky ones. Any and all suggestions would therefore be most welcome as to how this fate can be avoided. Answers on a postcard please.