It's All in the Genes...

(from 2014)

If longevity, or lack of it, is down to heredity – then I’ve still got a few years left yet!

My father lived to be 95. Had they not given him bad news that caused him to shut down systems immediately, he would probably have made his century. He was a health freak. As a child I remember him doing deep breathing exercises     every morning – sort of heavy breathing down the telephone but without the telephone – and he could see me off with press-ups, even though I wasn’t born until he was nearly 50 – wiry character as he was.

He put his longevity down to hiking. The earliest photo I have of him is smirking on the top of some mountain before the Second World War – and I hasten to add, a long time before me. He kept on walking to the end. At the age of 95 he walked 13 miles for charity, and saw off companions who were decades younger. He made the news in his local paper – “Mad pensioner walks a dozen miles and lives” sort of thing, and it was probably the publicity (for someone who had once been on the stage) that kept him going as he did.

My mother is still with us at 94. But her case was entirely different. She may have gained some exercise naturally through religious activities, but trailing behind my father when they were “together” was not her idea of fun. She ate all the wrong foods, while laying down the law to others on the latest diet to cure all ills. Her favourite diet was to eat great huge meals – and then two slimming biscuits afterwards. I did try to point this out, but I don’t know what it is – parents don’t seem to appreciate wisdom from their kids – unless of course it is which button to punch on a computer...

So – where does this leave me? I paid to have a full medical examination on reaching a certain venerable age and then had a dream after it. Yes – my cholesterol levels were such that saturated fats could be my sole diet and I would still thrive. All the bits and pieces were working well. Nothing seemed likely to drop off. I could still hear the doctor and see the pretty nurse. The doctor put away his stethoscope and congratulated me.

I smiled. I smirked. I preened. I hopped, skipped and jumped out of that private hospital reception

...straight under a truck.