Granny A-Go-Go

People probably think I’m a bit batty. I have no illusions about that, and I couldn’t care less. When you reach my age, you’ll understand – especially if you’ve still got your mobility and your wits about you. You can actually have a lot of fun by disregarding rules and regulations, and no one ever tells you off about it once you’re over 80. Why not live it up?

For example, my sister’s granddaughter Midi is always telling me not to come into her office without an appointment. I know she’s a doctor and all, but how serious can it really be for little old Aunt Mabel to drop by occasionally? Worst case scenario, some wailing kid is going to be sufficiently distracted by my cheeky shenanigans that he forgets what he was so upset about and lets Midi give him his needle.

Do you want to know the secret to the spring in my step? It’s trips to the clinic for hyperbaric oxygen therapy. Melbourne doesn’t have too many of these – in fact, I’m not sure it has any that are open to the general public – so when I say ‘clinic’, I actually mean my friend Harriet’s back room. She has a portable oxygen chamber, you see, and I go there for a monthly top up – of what, I’m not entirely sure, but it seems to work.

I’m not sure it’s entirely above board, using the machine this way. But once again, I say, disregarding the rules can be a lot of fun, and in this case it seems to keep me up and at ‘em to boot. I tell you, if it wasn’t for that thing I may not be running around town playing bowls and frequenting cafes like there’s no tomorrow. It might not sound like much, but at 89, it’s an achievement to write home about. 

Midi will forgive me, anyway – especially once I’ve taken her out for Devonshire tea.