How not to chair a meeting!

I am chair of a local resident's committee and it was the AGM recently, met with trepidation by myself and our treasurer. As all 14 out of a possible 30 arrived, on zimmer frames, mobility scooters and in wheelchairs, I had to admire their grit. We started 15 minutes late - everybody needed to be settled, with much creaking of bones then bribed with a drink to ensure they stayed more than 5 minutes. So it was out with the Buck's Fizz and the sherry (with lemonade - well, the sherry, anyway). If you need to get drunk quickly sherry and lemonade goes straight to your head and the thought of trying to get a drunk posse of the elderly home on their various modes of transport was a bit of worry. The treasurer reminded them to drink with care as 'we don't want to wheel anyone home in a wheelbarrow'. Luckily, they all live within spitting distance of the venue.

The meeting began with difficulty - a get-together presents a good time to exchange views and gossip. The next task was making sure everybody had their papers and understood what was what - agenda, minutes of last AGM, yearly accounts and Chair's report, written by yours truly. I took the minutes as well. Not because none of them are compus mentis, but because eyesight, hearing and arthritis prevents them from managing paperwork.

After that, it was all systems go - well, sort of ... tenants got sidetracked by various subjects, ran down rabbitholes with them and it was with great difficulty and as much tact as I could muster, that I engineered a return to the point! And still there was an underlying mummer from a lady who becomes strategically deaf - she can always hear the offer of a drink or that she has won a prize in a raffle, but otherwise - well, picture the scene. There were times when I wanted to get up and hit her over the head with her walking stick, but couldn't of course - elder abuse I think that is called.

Then there was the sweet old lady who just wants company - she is confined to her flat because of her physical and mental health, but dearly loves to join in and although confused, tries to help with clearing and washing up. At the end of the afternoon, she wanted to 'come home with you' because, as she said, 'I'm only up there on my own!' Quite true and sad - pity volunteers have to jump through so many hoops before being allowed to volunteer to befriend the elderly. Of course there are those who prey on the vulnerable, but they could be easily watched. It is sad when the kindly and loving have to suffer for the sins of the minority.

Anyway, all in all, it was an event to be remembered and the committee members (all over 70, and some over 80) have a lot to be proud of. After 5 years of fighting with the local authorities the committee have managed to obtain secure gates and safer pavements/roads around the site. This has involved a considerable amount of work and attendance at meetings, made more difficult by having to deal with two different councils. When the gates were almost turned down because of planning permission I believe there would have been a riot, but the council climbed down very quickly after intervention from local councillors and one MP. Perhaps the prospect of grappling grannies to the ground or being run down by a disability scooter or zimmer frame helped.

At the end, our treasurer, a wheelchair-abled (she is certainly not wheelchair-bound) lady with lots of bottle, cut glass accent and amazingly colourful language, said that she hoped the group would go on from strength to strength and continue to 'grow old disgracefully!' I said they could 'wear purple and spit' at their age and hope to become as active and forthright as they are when I hit their age.

He who must not obeyed and other relationships

I was thinking about toy boys the other day and the number of celebrities who swear by them. No chance! Well, for a start, I am well past my sell by date, have little money, very little style or particularly spectacular looks or figure. Anyway, I think toy boys are over-rated! 'He who must be obeyed' is older than I by 9 years and there is a lot to be said for that. Firstly, he cannot run fast enough to catch younger women and secondly, he is short-sighted so doesn't notice my wrinkles.

We are both as honest as possible in our dealings with one another - sometimes he can be too honest. In my previous relationship I was much less honest and it fell apart ... Of course, my man complains that I am obviously not as compliant as I was with my husband and I tell him that I have learnt my lesson and he has to live with the consequences! One day we will get married, but I do need a divorce first and it costs! Besides, as I said to 'he who must not be obeyed' what makes him think I want to become one of his mad family; I have a crazy enough one of my own.

Other relationships - well, I have two sisters, both very loveable, if bossy. I envy them both for knowing what they wanted career-wise from young. Me - I still don't know what I want to do! Sometimes wonder why you are expected to know what you want to do once you have left school. By the time I am pensionable age, perhaps I will know!

I have lots of acquaintances and a few good friends. One in particular is a very tough lady and I have to fight to be on an equal level with her. She swears like a trooper and is straightforward in most of her dealings, but I have noticed some manipulative behaviour. She will say, 'would you do me a favour' which immediately makes me feel put on the spot. One day I will get up the courage to say that I would prefer she just say 'please could/would you ..'

The Chaos Theory of Housework

I remain a bit of a stranger to housework - don't know the last time I used the iron and the ironing board is at the back of a very cluttered cupboard. Our flat is littered with books I am reading, about to read, have taken off the shelves and not returned (my excuse is that I have to use steps to put them away); in the sitting room the computer desk is covered in bits of paper, pens, magazines and mail, some open, some not.

In the corner of the room are two tool boxes and by the radiator several bits of computer, which my partner is, allegedly, using to improve the computer. I have yet to see an improvement, but it keeps him happy. I fall over the toolboxes often, reminding me that I should look down more, given our propensity for not putting stuff away. We have an overflowing filing tray and 'to do' basket - to do means, loosely, will be done some time within the next two or three months, except when I have an appointment and have to plough through it all to find the relevant paperwork required. We are so disorganised we sometimes end up buying something again because we can't find the original and then end up with three of something. Very wasteful!

I try not to worry about the consistent state of chaos and remind myself of the axiom which I ascribe to of 'only dull women have tidy kitchens' but sometimes wonder if my partner would enjoy a bit of a dullard for the price of a clean home. I have suggested he try living with my oldest sister whose home is always tidy and he looks alarmed at the prospect, so maybe there is something to not being too fussy!

When I am very bored perhaps I shall do the housework, but I doubt that. As soon as I have nothing to do, I find something I like doing and that's that. Interestingly, I clean for a neighbour - his place is cleaner than mine before I start the cleaning! I can manage to do it because it is so tidy and I am getting paid. My partner suggested paying me, but since what's his is mine, there is no point.

Enough of housework except to reiterate, 'only very dull women have tidy kitchens'.

And didn't Quentin Crisp say,'the dust doesn't get any thicker after three years'?

Exercise & the cat who 'walks alone'

I started at a gym recently - knowing that exercise is especially good for combating depression. Trouble is, having been size 8 to 10 most of my life, I have never really bothered with exercise, but change of life, medication and doing very little when depressed has left me overweight and flabby. Anyway, I joined a local gym and have so far been to 3 classes called LBT (legs, bums and tums) - yes I thought T stood for that as well! There were two different teachers and one of them was a sadist! At one point he let us all punch into a punchbag that he held up in front of us - I was obviously looking very fierce as he said 'not my face!' As if ... By the end of each class I was absolutely exhausted, but so were many of the group, most of whom looked younger than I. Of course I look red-faced and sweaty within minutes - why is it some women still look good after strenuous exercise - are they real? Some of them don't appear to sweat at all and wear attractive outfits which don't look marked in any way. My costume is a pair of shorts and t-shirt (gone are the days when I could get away with bike shorts).

The gym bit of exercise is far less interesting. I find all those toned bodies and tans intimidating and make sure I use the machines furthest away from them, preferably ones where there are no mirrors - seeing myself sweat is not one of my favourite pastimes. There are far more men than women there and they often look to me as if they are showing off with weights etc. I find the treadmill the most boring of all the machines and looking at all those clones running/walking/earphones on/bored expression on face is enough to put me off. However, I have paid for the month and am determined to stick it out. Strange that I, who always thought myself the least competitive of people, should find myself competing when on the rowing machine and anyone comes and uses the one next to me. (There are only two, so there is no choice but to go on if someone else sits down next to you). Of course, even if I can keep up with anyone, I am surely on a lesser strength pull, but who's to know that?

The biggest challenge in using the gym is mastering the machinery. This is difficult since I have never been much good at technical stuff. I had a session with an instructor, told him what I hoped to achieve (inch loss rather than weight loss) and a moderate level of fitness - I don't intend to run any marathons! He showed me a series of stretching and exercising machines that felt like torture. I couldn't manage one called the Fly at all and he has suggested I lie on one of those big balls and lift two .75 kg weights. Now that is what I call elegant! One of the machines for abductions is even sexier - sitting with legs akimbo and stretching out and back. However, I think I probably look funniest doing the pulling exercise - I can barely reach the pulley and must then struggle into a very uncomfortable sitting position and pull the thing up and down.

The exercise machines I use in my programme otherwise are: the treadmill (boring), the bicycle (at least I can see I have cycled a certain distance, even if my pace is so slow that sometimes it thinks I have paused!) The rowing machine feels like it is doing me good, if only because I can feel my tummy muscles working. I use that to warm down.

Now I am boring myself about exercise, so will turn to my cat's behaviour. He is a lovely black male with a mind of his own (certainly the best-looking male in the house). He barely acknowledges us, occasionally honouring us with his presence in the middle of the bed and permitting us to stroke him for a while. He enjoys walking over everything, including keyboards, mobile phones, remote controls and any work surfaces, even those cluttered with debris (which is most of them - we are not the tidiest people on the block). He likes peering out of the window and has managed to get out on a very narrow window-sill on 2 occasions so far. A pitiful crying alerted us to his plight at about 3 in the morning! He is an elegant and beautiful creature and gives us endless pleasure - we don't get out much! We hope to get some kind of ladder erected for him to get into the communal back garden as we are on the second floor with no access to it.