I have been here five months. My first visit was to spend Christmas two years ago. After four subsequent visits I decided to abandon independence and move in as a ‘Resident’. I have been ‘serialising’ my progress, starting with a blog about making the decision. Married friends of my age, thirty years in France, have been persuaded by their family to go back to UK. They were looking to buy a house in the Andover area, I thought of the stress, and thought they were mad. Three visits have shown them that there is nothing that they could afford could they bear to live in. Now they are looking at the same as I have here, Residence with all found. Nearest is sheltered accommodation. My mother had the equivalent in Basingstoke, state run, it was good, but stuck out in a ‘Satellite’ (designed, like Harlow, to take London over-spill). I’ve done a lot of listening and reading, and, at the moment, being old in France is cheaper and better than the UK equivalent.

That said, having made a Hobson’s Choice decision, how am I coping? Not very well. There was a programme on French TV last night about centenarians who had a ‘Good Life’. ‘Ingredients’ were well balanced meals, fresh produce, not too much meat. Plenty of physical exercise, keeping brain active (one man studying Russian) and a good social life. I could manage all if I was not suffering inertia. But the last, despite being in a ‘Community’ is a stumbling block, and it is my ‘raison d’etre’. The only decent conversation has been with a blind man, recently arrived after several falls, communication for him is ultra-important, I reckon he is the most cheerful person here. His blindness is hereditary, degenerative. Radio and music vital – he learned Braille (now that IS a challenge), but here he needs to be lead everywhere, this place is NOT designed for people who need special care.

I am actually reading my encyclopaedias (culture) a dream possession, with huge dictionary beside me. Trying the philosophers, looking to use their wisdom. But most of the great ones wrote when people did not reach a great age, and certainly did not live in a one-age community. Rich and clever would have been heads of their village (or Lords of the Manor) poor by the fireside of their children, doing what small tasks they could, or in the workhouse. Back from a dismal meal, remaining ‘positive’ (another ingredient for coping with old age) is a major challenge. This sounds a real moan, but what measures do I take when a woman, seeming rational and social, asks the director if she can change tables and sit next to me (she did not like the table manners of the others). She does not say a word, and does puzzle books. OK, sounds petty, but this is the level of behaviour, and I have to find a solution, NOT skulk in my room. 

The Gardener

A Moodscope member