When I am old, I shall live in Aldeburgh. I shall paint my house red or purple or red and purple and invite my, equally old, friends to stay. I shall play tennis.
Poorly. But with vigour born of ozone overload.
I shall play bowls and wear white, or off-white, whilst doing so.
I shall drink gin and tonic to celebrate my winning and if winning goes to my head I shall take up golf. Just down the road.
Each morning I shall fast pace it to Thorpness. And back.
Accompanied by a Bardotesque menagerie of Cockapoo pups. I shall eat fish and chips and seafood pizza
and purchase my own fish from the local fishermen.
I shall apply for an allotment overlooking the marshes
and grow sweet-peas to beautify my already beautiful home. And vegetables. I shall indulge in a spot of artistry.
And if, at any time, I crave masculine attention I shall swim by the Southwold Pier and catch a lifeguard’s eye. “Save me,” I shall cry to the young blood in the lookout and I will not be drowned.
Perhaps, just perhaps, as Jenny says, to stop shock, surprise or confusion in those who know me, I should start the engine. Right now. First gear engaged. Aldeburgh is calling to my young(ish) heart.
*Inspired by Jenny Joseph’s ‘Warning, When I am Old’, Elliot’s ‘J. Alfred Prufrock’ and ‘Peter Grimes’ by Benjamin Britten.