WHEN I WAS just 17, Simon & Garfunkel released the album Bookends, which included that plaintive song of ageing Old Friends.
The first verse sets the scene. ‘Old friends sat on a park bench like bookends. A newspaper blown through the grass falls on the round toes of the high shoes of the old friends.’
Clearly, these two pals are now so frail and immobile that litter accumulates in their clothing as if they were scarecrows.
The chorus is mournful too:
Can you imagine us
Years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange
to be seventy.
Just before Paul Simon’s 77th - let me repeat that, 77th - birthday, earlier this year, he released his latest album In the Blue Light. He also went on tour, with performances in Stockholm, Oslo, Amsterdam, Dublin, London, Atlanta, Washington, Pittsburgh and New York - in fact, he did gigs in 22 different cities between June 20 and September 22. The reviews were good, and there wasn’t a single report of litter clinging to his clothing.
Simon was 27 when he wrote Old Friends and one might hear in the lyrics a young man’s dismay at the realisation that everybody ages: a more melancholic version of the brutalist ‘hope I die before I get old’ line in The Who’s My Generation. Incidentally, Roger Daltrey - who sang that line - is now 74. He too was on tour this year, and is not even slightly dead. I hope he is not too disappointed.
Rolling Stone Sir Michael Philip Jagger is 75 and still bouncing around the stage like a Ninja. Keith Richards is 74, gnarled and über cool. Sting, like me, is a mere 67. Painter David Hockney is 81, and Sir David Attenborough is 92 and has just jumped ship to join Netflix for an eight-part series. Not one of them is ‘sharing a park bench quietly’.
What’s more, nor are many of my ‘old’ friends. Three of them are rattling around the world’s more obscure countries like balls in a pin ball machine; another having grown tired of white-water kayaking is studying to become a yacht master; yet another is gigging with his band most weekends; a couple of married friends are most likely to be out on their tandem, or striding over moors; one of my funniest chums is in his 80s and to be in his company is to be in a constant comedy improv, his humour and energy are unrelenting. The oldest man I know, allergist Dr Bill Frankland, is 106 and he still exercises daily - before answering his emails. He is not allowed to practise anymore, but he continues to work as a consultant. And this is not to mention my ‘old’ friends who are still running successful businesses - they are legion.
None of this is the way in which pensioners used to behave, so what’s going on?
One of the issues is that the adjective ‘old’ at some point became a pejorative - as in old fashioned, old hat, old timer, old maid. Actually, it’s a venerable Saxon word althas that was originally rooted in the idea of ‘growth’ and ‘nourishment’. To be ‘old’, in the original sense, is to be fully grown and nourished like a mature and magnificent oak tree.
And so many of we baby boomers - rebels to the last - have shrugged off the pejorative adjective ‘old’ as if it were an especially irritating hair shirt, and have set off on new adventures. We are more likely to be climbing Kilimanjaro or swimming with sharks than sitting on a park bench, quietly or otherwise.
We have been helped, of course, by the West’s relative prosperity during our lifetime and by improvements in medical science. Because we are healthier we can do so much more than our parents and their parents did at the same age, leading to the observation that 60 is the new 40. Our generation has led - and continues to lead - charmed lives.
This entire line of thinking was prompted by an email I received from somebody telling me that they had been about to offer me an unpaid and voluntary position (for which, incidentally, I had not applied), but that on checking my age I was found to be ‘too old’.
I laughed out loud when I read it. Later, I realised that the rules governing tenure of this post - an eight year term with retirement at 70 - had probably been written in the 1930s, when 70 was the equivalent of 90 today. Since the rules mean that anybody over what is now a youthful and working age of 62 is too old, they clearly need rewriting. And, for reasons I won’t go into here, that is unlikely to happen.
The reason I laughed is that while I constantly use the word ‘old’ to describe myself, I realise I do it ironically. I refer to my ‘old blokes’ band’ and when people ask me how I am, I might say ‘I’m doing alright for an old bloke’.
In fact, I’m doing a whole lot better than that. I am still driven by curiosity and not at all constrained by subject, and I probably write and research more than I did when I worked on a daily newspaper - the difference is that now I get to choose what I write about. And so I’m fascinated by the lives of freed slaves in 18th century London, by organic and sustainable food production, by artificial intelligence, philosophy, psychology and driverless cars. And that’s just for today. There are even whole minutes when I can work up a passing interest in Brexit.
And - thanks to my personal trainer and god-daughter, Gigi Trozado - I am reasonably fit and, Gigi tells me, quite strong. Getting older doesn’t necessarily mean growing frail, but you do have to put the effort in to prevent it happening.
My body bears the scars of its long life, of course. Along with the wrinkles and laughter lines, there’s a long scar on my left leg where I was injured illegally riding a conveyor belt in a German coal mine and another on my right leg where I slipped and got tangled in pre-war barbed wire on the top of a fence. And despite Gigi’s continued efforts, I have a paunch that is directly related to a guilty habit of supping Sauvignon Blanc immediately after my training sessions, and quite often between them. I might have a t-shirt made with the words “this is not Gigi’s fault” printed on my belly.
Pessimists might point out that the road my friends and I have travelled is much longer than the one in front of us. Fanatics might point out that ‘the end is nigh’. And, yes, so it is - for all of us. Nobody lives forever. All you can do is have fun and enjoy every day until there are no more days left to have fun in. And then, who knows ….?
Youthfulness, to adapt a well-worn cliche, really is an attitude of mind. The truth is that I personally found it “terribly strange” to be 17. I’m happier and more relaxed now than I was half a century ago. So relaxed, in fact, that I might find a friend and go and sit on a park bench ironically to contemplate the litter of life. I’ll be sure to wear my round toed shoes, too.
Here are seven simple rules for not being ‘old’.
Be kind. It costs nothing, and the rewards are wonderful. Kindness comes right back at you.
Be curious. Ask questions. Engage with people. Be engaging. Be interested. Listen intently. Curiosity is the antidote to ageing.
Be positive. Optimists live longer than pessimists (which means that they’re both right). Look for challenges - learn a language, learn to sing, learn to dance, travel, volunteer for something. And avoid negative people - life really is too short to allow them into your head.
Be fit. A GP told me recently that exercise is a ‘cure’ for all of the chronic diseases dealt with by the NHS except heart disease. Eat well but try and eat a little less, and stay hydrated.
Be silly. Stay in touch with your inner seven-year old. Splash in puddles, throw sticks, make awful jokes, do silly things.
Be busy. Get out there, meet people, join in, do stuff - and keep on doing stuff.
Be cool. Be Stoical. Meditate. Especially, meditate - along with exercise, it really is the key to wellbeing. Get out into the open air, and walk mindfully.
Addendum: In September 2019 The Week produced an updated list of the ages of the following surviving rock stars - most of whom are still touring: Bob Dylan (78 years old); Paul McCartney (77); Paul Simon (77) and Art Garfunkel (77); Carole King (77); Brian Wilson (77); Mick Jagger (76) and Keith Richards (75); Joni Mitchell (75); Jimmy Page (75) and Robert Plant (71); Ray Davies (75); Roger Daltrey (75) and Pete Townshend (74); Roger Waters (75) and David Gilmour (73); Rod Stewart (74); Eric Clapton (74); Debbie Harry (74); Neil Young (73); Van Morrison (73); Bryan Ferry (73); Elton John (72); Don Henley (72); James Taylor (71); Jackson Browne (70); Billy Joel (70); and Bruce Springsteen (69, but turning 70 next month).