I’ve kept my eyes shut, pretended it wasn’t there and put it off as long as I could. But now I have to face it. After 70 carefree years of adolescence, I have to take the bull by the horns, put my nose to the grindstone, my shoulder to the wheel and my hand to the plough. And as if that isn’t hard enough, I have to grow up!
I’ve been told!
I was down at Collingwood Co-Health yesterday for a friendly chinwag with my doctor. It’s a warm, friendly place, with warm friendly staff, a pleasant way to spend a morning and I always enjoy a quick chat with the warm, friendly Lucy on the front desk.
But then the blow fell. Summoned into the doctor’s office, I found myself at the receiving end of a barrage of fierce restrictions on my happy-go-lucky lifestyle. Why are medicos so formidable? I was there to talk about arthritis for heaven’s sake, not to be told that it’s time I smartened up.
I was questioned, I confessed. I listened to dire predictions. I squirmed, embarrassed, on the chair. And the upshot is .. I do have to smarten up.
No more furtive trips out to the backyard for the odd fag, no more little nips of sherry, sweet or dry, no more endless cups of coffee and no more cheese. No more cheese! How can I live without cheese?
Do I really have to take responsibility for my own health? Apparently I do, and it’s time to grow up. Life is hard alright.
From now on you’ll see a new Queenie. An irritable, smoke-free, sherry-free, cheese-free, Queenie. If you see me on the street carrying bags of lettuce leaves and other rabbit food for my new healthy diet, I suggest you duck into a doorway. Quick smart.