As the years drift by, you become altogether too lazy to bother with a proper wash
This is a tale that floats in and out of conversation quite regularly, like a half-remembered refrain.
I dont argue with it; I simply recount it as it surfaces.
Its true enough: as you age, the simplest of daily rituals become increasingly like mountainous tasks. Hauling yourself out of bed in the cold English morning, brushing your teeth again out of habit, or mustering up the energy to put together a half-decent breakfast. Even tackling the laundry feels Herculean. We shrink from effort, dawdling through the motions. Industriousness seems to fade into the mist.
Yet the rules of the world, unwritten but firm, tap us on the shoulder regardless of our enthusiasm. We may drag our feet, but theres little excusing not washing, not scrubbing teeth, forgetting to rinse your face, or neglecting a pile of muddy clothes. Why? Because in this British society, beneath relentless drizzle and tidily clipped hedgerows, these customs stand as quiet law.
Red corduroy trousers neednt be the pinnacle of fashion; the main thing is theyre clean and devoid of the lingering ghost of sweat, or that tell-tale trace of a coat donned for a fortnight straight.
A shock of grey hair is respected herespending your pension on hair dye at Boots is hardly the wisest use of pounds, after all. For most, a simple bottle of supermarket shampoo stashed in the cupboard suffices. So hair may grow silver, but a good scrub is always within reach. The same sense applies to your face: glamour fades and powder gives way to freckles, but keeping clean is a kindness to yourself.
A dab of hand cream from the local chemist, the cheapest deodorant under the arms, a sprinkle of baking soda in your loafers to banish stubborn odours. If your body starts smelling like last weeks fish and chips, you could do worse than a dusting of bicarbonate of soda.
Viewed through this lens, the mystery falls away. We indulge our laziness and excuse our miasmaphysical and otherwisebehind the shield of age, the dignity of retirement, or a lean wallet. But cleanliness is not a luxury for those with banknotes to burn; its a matter of modest persistence.
So, whatever your year in the calendar, you ought to remain human, with a splash of self-respect. Thats just how I see it, as the dream shuffles on, half in shadow, half in sunlight.
