The Sexual Smugness of the Young

Disgusting!  Stomach Churning! Makes Me Feel Sick!

80-year-old Iris

Just a few of the instant reactions I’ve read in response to the startling news that a man and a woman are enjoying an intimate relationship. What’s all the fuss then you may well ask.

Well, the couple who seem to be offending so many people with their sexy fun are just a little unusual in that the lady is 80, and her beau is just 35 years old.

The lovely ‘Iris’ quite understandably, is shouting loud and proud that after a 35-year dry spell, she felt like a virgin all over again, and after her free advert for KY Jelly on prime time telly, she could justifiably request free supplies for life from Boots.

Her toy boy doesn’t have much to say, but he is pictured with his arm proudly round Iris, and I’m sure we will hear more about him in the not too distant future.

Yes all this maybe just a little too much information, but unlike the smug detractors, I’m not in the least bit offended by this story, and unlike some deluded ladies, who travel to far off lands to find some fun, only to be fleeced out of thousands of pounds in the process, Iris seems to have her head screwed on and isn’t going to be handing over her pension any time soon.

How lovely that this lady isn’t sitting at home on her own, with only memories for company.  Not many women her age would even think to get on a plane to Cairo, let alone have a fling with a man 45 years her junior.  Bloody fair play to her, she’s having the time of her life.  Being interviewed by Holly and Phil, making headlines across the world, it’s her time to shine and she is.

Iris and her ‘beau’

The couple met on Social Media and although 80-year-old Iris had virtually given up on finding love again, fate dealt her a winning card, and now at a time when many ladies are spending much of their time home alone, and the highlight of their week is a trip to the Bingo, Iris is swinging from the chandeliers and making headline news without a hint of embarrassment.  Much to the disgust of many!

But they aren’t hurting anyone else, they are conducting their relationship privately, nobody has to see what they are getting up to, so why do so many people feel the need to be negative and make hurtful remarks.

Children of any age find it offensive and distasteful that their parents are still having sex, but fail to acknowledge that if those same two people hadn’t had sex, then those same (offended) children wouldn’t be alive in the first place.

Even on TV and in Films, whenever there is a scene of mature parents getting up close and intimate, there is inevitably a counter shot of their screen children screwing up their nose, or turning away in disgust.

It seems that anyone under the age of 40 thinks sex is the prerogative of the young, and that parents and Grandparents, you know those ‘old’ people of 60, who have the audacity to even kiss and cuddle their partner is an affront to their own sexual behaviour.

As in, FFS they are OLD, and still doing the same things with each other at their age,  that I am doing with my girlfriend.  UGHHHHH, that’s disgusting.

So it’s disgusting behaviour for one age group, but not the other.

And recently, Social Media has been flooded with comments about 80-year-old Iris, and her toyboy. Some young people I even personally know have passed judgement with a smug attitude, ironically forgetting that one day, they too will be offending their children and Grandchildren with their own sexual misconduct!

I think that before we start educating children in school about gender issues, we should teach them that intimate relationships aren’t restricted to a particular age group.  You might start having sex in your teens and still be having sex in your 80’s, there is no right and wrong way.

But one thing for sure, I’d much rather see 80-year-old Iris and her peer group, being loved and cherished by anyone than see them spending long lonely days by themselves, with nothing much to look forward to, and only memories to cling to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Uninterested Man in The Flasher Mac

As we all enter a new decade, it’s a great time to clear out not only the clutter from your home, but also to say a permanent ‘See you later’ to those dead end relationships that only make you huff and puff and question your own sanity.

Why, I thought to myself, are you still friends with any man who doesn’t leave you smiling, or who has no positive effect on you whatsoever. So now in 2020 I’m taking steps to end those toxic relationships that drain the life out of you, and this one was the first to go.

After another ‘you couldn’t make it up’ lunch with this gentleman acquaintance, I took the easy decision of blocking him from my phone and ending all points of contact.  Sounds harsh, but here’s why…..

I’ve known, (let’s call him) Jim – surprisingly not his real name, – around 10 years.  Quite an attractive man, tall, carries himself well, and wouldn’t look out of place in an East End car lot.

In a different life, he might have been a would be member of a Kray type mob.  Back in the day that is.

An ex publican, plenty of chat, with a mouth that makes appointments for ‘mature man’ fisticuffs, that his body wouldn’t ever actually be able to keep.

But nevertheless, we shared a passion for red wine, warm climates, and long discussions about deciding what to do in our retirement.

But unfortunately for ‘Jim’, over the years, at times he’s not been a very nice friend, and whilst I’ve given him several second chances, this time, there was no point.

The last time I even spoke to ‘Jim’ was in 2015.  He had promised to collect some furniture for me, and I was relying  on him to deliver it to a new place I was renting.

As you can imagine, the actual moving part of all this was stressful enough, but to have him let me down quite spectacularly at the very last minute, tipped me over the edge.

I didn’t contact him again, or return any of his calls or texts.   Until December 2019.

Out of the blue he text to ask how I was, and that he’d like to buy me lunch to catch up.  And being the nosey bird that I am, I DID want to know what life had thrown at him during the 4 silent years. But nothing more than that. So I accepted the invite.

Lunch was arranged for 1.30.  My heart sank at his choice of venue, a fast food pub, but I didn’t intend to stay there too long. Quick drink, quick lunch, quick catch up, done. Maybe for another 4 years!

‘Jim’ arrived in the car park at the same time as me.  A vision approached me, in a long gold coloured Colombo style (flasher) Mac and hugs were exchanged.  I grabbed a table, he went to the bar to order drinks.  So far, so good.

Inside of a pub

But, it went downhill from there.  Without even exchanging pleasantries, my lunch date ceremoniously plonked 2 G & T’s on the table and launched into a mega speech, which should have come with a warning.

The opening statement was ‘well, I’ve been thinking,… we aren’t getting any younger, and what I think we should do is………’ it was as if I’d only seen him the day before, not 4 YEARS before!

For all he knew, I could have met the love of my life, and got married.  Unlikely, but he didn’t even wait to find out if I’d even had any meaningful relationships in all this time.

The diatribe continued for many minutes, with him telling me how we should pool our resources, and go off to Spain together and run a bar.

Oh and if it had rooms above it,  I could maybe run an Airbnb. ( as I’m already an Airbnb Superhost, this was the most sensible part of his suggestion).  He had it all worked out, and I really couldn’t get a word in edgeways.  He was on a roll.

Within all this, we had ordered some ‘fast’ food. As I’d looked at the menu, I’d mentally made a note of what he would order, and I wasn’t wrong, the cheapest item, as always.

As an ex publican, he knows exactly where the food has been bought from, and his choice is dictated not by what he likes, or fancy’s, but what HE is paying for it, simply because he knows what the pub has paid for it. But he thinks I don’t know this!

I listened patiently, he didn’t pause for breath, whilst he put a price on all the belongings he would sell, and instructed me to start saving, so we could make our escape.   At last he stopped, and threw an uninterested ‘ So how have you been…..’ in my direction.  Ah, I thought, my turn to talk, your turn to listen.

With that, ”Jim’ turned and took his mobile phone out of his Flasher Mac pocket, and proceeded to scroll through it, as only uninterested people do, and became completely engrossed, occasionally glancing my way and giving me a cursory, ‘Yeah, I’m listening’……..actually mate, you definitely are not.  

It was the most bizarre lunch date I’ve endured in a long time, and trust me, I’ve endured quite a few.  A man who was nothing more than an occasional ‘friend’, who I hadn’t seen, or spoken to for 4 years, sat in front of me virtually dictating what WE should do, without pausing for breath.  No niceties, no catch up, no verbal foreplay, just straight in wham bam……..but actually, NO THANK YOU MAN!

How arrogant, how presumptuous, how rude and completely oblivious to what he was doing.

Normally, I’d linger over a coffee, enjoy the chat, and be interested in what someone had been up to in the 4 years since I’d last spoken to them. But once I could see that this was just a load of self centred clap trap, I made my excuses, thanked him for a lovely ( it was not) meal, and left.

To give you some idea of how quickly I made my own escape, I arrived at the pub at 1.30pm, I was back home with a cup of tea at 3.00, and 15 minutes of that was journey time!

Quite some ‘speed date’ then…..!

 

MATURE MEN SHOULD JUST STOP TALKING

Yesterday, I nearly went and got myself a date…….but whilst from the outside my would be new gentleman friend was quite acceptable, once he started on his epic story, he went on and on, and it quickly became a no likey from me. That’s why mature men should just stop talking.

Stick men showing one of them talking

Mature men should just stop talking

There I was stood on a chilly September morning, flogging my crap again at the local weekly car boot sale when a mature gentleman kindly pointed out to me that one of my items was displayed the wrong way round.

He seemed a nice genuine man, silver hair, with an impressive logo on his body warmer, and if I’m not mistaken a splash of Dior Eau de Savage wafted my way. We chatted about the pro’s and con’s of bifocal’s, and how popular Onyx had been in the 70’s. Not exactly mind blowing conversation, but don’t say I didn’t try.

I’m quite a regular there as I’m trying my best to declutter my life because as lifestyle ‘gurus’ say,  minimalistic is the new way to be cosy and less stressed.  I’m not convinced.  (more…)

LOSING YOUR LIBIDO

 

Apparently, after much money has been wasted on trials and studies on libido, the conclusion has been reached, the verdict delivered. Viagra does not work for women.  You don’t say! 

What a pity the same scientists hadn’t just asked women, they could have reached the same conclusion, for half the cost in half the time. Yes, we are told Viagra will make no difference to our sex drive and of course, it’s true; we’ve known it all along.

Unlike men, a little blue pill will not make us be magically up for it. It won’t put our sex drive into forward gear, relight our fire, or float our boat.

We know that the desire for sex starts in a women’s brain and works its magic downwards, whilst rumour has it that in men it starts downwards and pretty much stays there.

Luckily for those men whose equipment no longer rises to the occasion, purchase of a quick ‘kick start’ is easy via the Internet, without leaving the comfort of their own home.   Viagra pic H60

For a more personal approach, a visit to a sympathetic male doctor will have the desired effect and before you can say ‘make mine a stiff one’ they’ll soon sidle out of the pharmacy with a cure, boxed and wrapped in a plain paper bag.

Does this mean there is no quick fix solution for the ladies? What really is the truth about women’s loss of libido? How odd that it seems to just disappear. (more…)

MATURE MEN ARE SO BORING!

I wish I could keep my mouth shut. I really do. Not only that, I wish I could NOT write the things that I do.  But it’s impossible, and the fact, that in my opinion, mature men are so boring, is one more example of things that I wish I could NOT write.

One of my last missives was concerning a gentleman friend, who’d committed several crimes against brushes, and generally pissed me off, though not to the point where I’d banished him to the ‘ex’ friends heap as he continues to give me plenty of ‘content’ with which to create witty and amusing missives for your (possible) entertainment.

Don’t get me wrong.  He’s a nice man, a very very nice man. But bloody hell, why are mature men so boring. He’s turned 65, and though I will never meet her, as she’s currently propping up a very new and shiny headstone in Highgate Cemetery, I think he’s turning into his Mother, which brings me nicely to the reason for my story. 

(more…)

ONE MAN, TWO BRUSHES AND A BONE CHINA CUP

I cannot believe how, or why it has taken me so long to add something vaguely witty or wise to my little Hello Sixty blog. This is the story of one man and two brushes and includes a bone china cup.  All will become clear, so stick with it.

BRUSH NUMBER ONE FOR ONE MAN TWO BRUSHES and a bone china cup 

I’m really fussy about tea.  I like to make my own tea, and wherever possible it has to be Yorkshire Tea.

I don’t mind it being made in a mug during the day and evening, BUT my first cup of tea of the day just has to be made in a white bone china cup. Don’t ask me why it just does.

As lots of you will know, I’ve recently returned from a trip to Spain, and after selling all my worldly goods to go in the first place, now I need to restock my new abode with virtually everything from knives and forks and pots and pans, right up to beds, sofa’s and beyond.

One of my gentleman callers who starts virtually every sentence with ‘I’m not tight but….’ gets very turned on by a trip to Poundland and he treated me to 6 new mugs. They cost exactly a £1.00 each.

They were perfectly acceptable, but favorite was still my pure white, bone china breakfast teacup, which I bought myself, and cost £4.99 in Sainsbury’s.

And yes you can Taste the Difference.

Fast forward.  I’ve gone mad painting shelves and upcycling some shabby shite which I’ve paid next to nothing for at car boot sales, and I’m very fond of wrapping my brushes in cling film and leaving them laying around the kitchen until the next project.

Imagine if you will then how utterly grateful I was to Mr. ‘I’m not tight but…’ when I found that out of all the mugs in my kitchen, he’d ‘helpfully’ rounded up my paint brushes and left them to soak in……..my beautiful pure white bone china breakfast teacup.

It’s relevant to say here that Mr ‘I’m not tight but….’ is a nice chap, very helpful, and a top bloke for putting up shelves and curtain poles. But he’s SO careful with his money, and likes to hold onto it for as long as humanly possible

Oh, and did I mention he’s won the lottery not once, but twice!  Not life changing amounts, but more than enough to make a big difference, and just last week won yet another £150 on a scratch card.  Talk about money going to money

BRUSH NUMBER TWO FOR ONE MAN TWO BRUSHES and a dustpan and brush.   

One man, two brushes

One man, two brushes

Things disappear don’t they, usually, it’s just socks and things. But recently so did my dustpan and brush. I have no idea where it went, I think I must have just left it in a bin bag and chucked it out with the rubbish.

Mr ‘I’m not tight but…’ found this completely mystifying and mulled over its disappearance for an unhealthily long time.

The lost dustpan and brush was actually white, but he mourned the loss so much he began to even debate the colour, saying that he was sure it was maroon.

He’d been putting up some shelves, and there’s always that bit of dust that gets trapped on the skirting board, and of course, you don’t realise how handy a dustpan and brush can be until you’ve chucked them away!

But on about the 5th time of him trying to start a conversation about the ffffflippin dustpan and brush, unsurprisingly I flipped and suggested that if I had one handy, I’d shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.

Some days later, he left a voicemail on my phone that went something like this.

‘You are going to laugh at this’…….( I doubted it )……I’m in a shop, standing in front of loads of dustpan and brushes all in different colours, and I don’t know if I should get you one or not, and what colour you would like. You are not answering your phone and I really don’t know what to do’.

And then he hung up. Apparently at the time of the call he was standing in Poundland, where the dustpan and brush was ONE pound.  He didn’t get me one. It was £1.00. ONE Pound.

If you, on the other hand really don’t get ME, refer back to the paragraph in italics above.

In the end, I bought my own dustpan and brush, and it too cost a £1.00 from a boot sale, after a few outings, the handle broke.

Now if only someone had bought me a spare one………MEN!

Read more about Mr. I’m not tight but…….http://www.hellosixty.com/mature-men-are-so-boring/

 

HONESTLY WE ARE JUST GOOD FRIENDS!

Fancy some Fish and Chips on Friday?  he typed.   That would be lovely, I typed back.

We don’t actually talk very often, but we type a lot to each other.  Sometimes we watch whole programmes on the telly together too, whilst sitting miles apart. Yes I know, we should get out more but honestly, we are just good friends.

The exchanges are fairly succinct.  Celebrity MasterChef, for example, is accompanied by  ‘that looks like shite,  or ’not enough jus with the lamb’  and ‘shovel it in Greg’………..highbrow stuff.

Then, in the middle of our ‘conversation,’ we both nod off on our respective sofa’s, about 20 miles apart until the next time.  (more…)

MIND THE ‘AGE’ GAP!

H60. Older man younger womanBack in the day, when those of us who were a ‘child of the 60’s, were fluttering our Mary Quant eyelashes, and dancing round our handbags to Tamla Motown tunes, it seemed so damn cool for us to be seen out with an attractive, older, more worldly wise man.

Somehow, when you were 18 and freezing your tits off on the back of a Vespa, and some charmer nearly twice your age, came along swanking it big time, offering you a lift home in his Ford Cortina, you pretty soon started riding pillion in a frankly more pleasurable way.

And yes, ‘back in the day’, I too enjoyed liaisons with men considerably older than me, and far from feeling used and abused, (as apparently so many women 40 odd years later, now conveniently feel), I had a great time.

I went to places other girls my age only read about in magazines, I ate in good restaurants, and shopped in the West End while my mates were shopping in the market. (more…)

WE NEED TO TALK!

I don’t remember where I was when texting arrived. It crept up on me from behind, and not in a good way.

All of a sudden EVERYONE was at it.  Yes OK, it may be ‘progress’ but really, I think it’s a backward step.

Why is it more normal to text, than to actually SPEAK to the person you want to communicate with.

Am I a textaphobe?  Oh no I’m up to speed me!  Yes, my fingers can talk the talk as well as anyone else.

But way back in the day, that clever chap Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone, so we could speak to another person, immediately, without waiting for a letter or a telegram, bearing good, or bad news. EUREKA!  Because of him, we just picked up the phone and TALKED.

But all good things come to an end and we now have the cutting edge of text messaging at our  fingertips. Previously, you might have enjoyed a verbal invitation for a hot date and had the pleasure of hearing the sexy voice of your one and only. Now, you get a piercing text alert, only to read ‘ wud b g8 2 c u 2nite, spk 2 u l8ter’.

Well that’s not going to ‘send’ you all giddy is it!H60 new message received.

I think women, especially, get a very raw deal in the texting department.  When sending a text to their ‘man of the moment’ they usually use up all of their allotted digits.  Men, on the other hand, usually use the least digits possible to get their message across.

Imagine the morning after the passionate night before. Women are prone to reliving it all, and may wonder if ‘he’ is still basking in the same afterglow as she is. (Unlikely)

So she sends a 160 digit loving missive about how great it had all been. If she’s lucky enough to get any response at all, ‘yeah woz gud’ could just tip her over the edge of texting reason.

Mobile phones seem to have become the adult version of a security blanket. They have to be within touching distance or the owner feels a bit scared.  Scared of missing something that is.

No matter where you look these days, there will be someone clutching their phone, texting madly. Huddled in doorways’ the smokers have now been joined by a new band of brothers all firing up their small and slinky weapons of mass communication.

Of course one thing a phone call and text message do have in common is that sometimes both of them are a long time coming so to speak.

You know how it is, you are all loved up, waiting for a missive from the object of your desire, but you have to keep your phone on silent. Perhaps you are at work, or worse still, a funeral.

So you tuck your mobile snugly in your bra or knickers.  After all if there are any vibrations heading your way, especially in your lady bits, you sure as hell don’t want to miss them.

Then, if he’s in ‘chatty’ mode you have to plead early onset incontinence and visit the loo several times so you can reply in secret.

Gone are the days when numerous trips to the ladies could indicate doing constructive things with white powder and a credit card. The fashionable addiction now is TEXTING.

Even the Priory Clinic are running therapy sessions, I kid you not.

But even if it is quick, and convenient, texting is still fraught with issues for lots of people.

We’ve all got a relative or friend who takes FOREVER to reply to the simplest of texts, or who just ignores them altogether.

Isn’t it so annoying, when you need a quick response to something, as in, right NOW, and you know damn well the other person is definitely not handcuffed to a chair in a darkened room rocking some earplugs.  Yes, they can see, and hear that they have received a text from you, but it’s totally out of your hands, when, or if they will answer.

Then to add insult to injury, eventually you may get a response which begins ‘soz woz busy b4….

Busy BUSY?  What on earth were you so busy doing that it took you THIS long to bloody well answer. Honestly, I’ve seen my nearest and dearest respond to a text almost before they’ve received it, yet sometimes I wait DAYS for a reply if I get one at all!  Collection of acronyms and abbreviations colorful speech bubbles

I’m ancient enough to remember the smelly phone box at the bottom of my road, where I used to go every Sunday evening with my Mum so we could make our weekly phone call to my Gran.  The A and B button, the frantic ‘Goodbyes’ trying to beat the pips.

Somehow, no matter how many kisses it has at the end, a text from MY Grandchildren, just isn’t the same as hearing their voices.

KWIM!?

MY THRESHOLDS ARE LOW!

Mature Gentleman, look away now.     H60 low boredom threshold

I know I have a low boredom threshold, and my attention wanders pretty damn quick if I’m not fully engaged with either a person, film, or even a book.

But when it comes to a mature man trying to entertain me with what he thinks is an interesting tale, sometimes I struggle to disguise my FFS shut up face.

Some people would have us believe that this, low boredom threshold thing, is the sign of an intelligent mind, but in my case, I can assure you it’s just a sign that someone is taking far too long to tell me a story!

Yep, I’m just plain bloody bored.

I honestly do try, but today was a prime example of something that happens to me quite regularly.  Is it them, or is it me I ask myself.  But I’ve a better idea.  You decide!

I’ve been away for a week to Spain, on my holibobs. I’ve eaten some nice food, seen some nice places, and met some nice people.

In fact it’s all be SO ‘nice’ that I have a story or two of my own to impart to anyone who is willing to listen.

But today was clearly not my turn for storytelling.

One of my very mature ‘gentlemen friends’ called in to collect some duty free cigarettes I’d got for him. And when I say ‘friend’ he is just that.

A lovely, very rotund chap, who is outrageously rude and opinionated, but hilariously funny at the same time.  He’s usually great company.

But today, the boring bug had bitten him good and proper.

He bustled in with a big bear hug and peck on the cheek for me, plonked himself down rather heavily in a chair not made for girth.

Being polite, I got in first, and asked him how he was, and what he’d been up to.   BIG mistake!

Now I can tell you what he’d been up to in these few words.

His friend, a farmer, got a puncture on his truck but he had no spare tyre, so he was going off to get it repaired for him. Some modern vehicles don’t come with a spare these days, just a repair kit, which isn’t much good if it’s a 4×4 and you regularly drive over fields and ditches like he does.  What a daft idea these repair kits are for commercial vehicles, surely they should come with a spare tyre.  END OF.

Only his version went on, and on and on.  He told me about the inner workings of an inner tube, the size of the wheel, the make of the vehicle, and went into great detail about a series of letters he had previously exchanged with the MD of the car manufacturer, regarding the aforementioned omission of a spare tyre.    H60 Tyre repair kit.

He quoted parts of each letter, quoted part of the current licencing law for commercial vehicles and didn’t even stop when I began to pick my nails and do that thing we ladies do when we are not in the least bit interested, and start saying, ‘yeah’ in a….’ hurry up and shut up’ kind of way.

For Fuck Sake……….seriously, why do men do this.  Take FOREVER to tell a story which holds NO interest whatsoever for a female listener.

Don’t they realise, it’s so damn boring and eventually we just zone out.  They are so busy droning on and on, they can’t even pick up the signals that it’s time to shut up.

And not to mention their ability to hark back to something that happened 4 decades ago, making it sound like it happened last week.

What is that all about.  Talk about living in the past.

Women are good at just getting the pertinent facts of a story across aren’t they.  We can tell it exactly how it is in a few sentences, and move on swiftly to the next bit of juicy gossip.

We live in the moment; we are best at banter and bare facts.   H60 AND

WE DON’T CARE if whatever, happened on a Monday at 7, or Thursday at 10.  We just want to know WHAT happened!

BUT ‘mature’ men seem to have to be SO precise about the facts of any incident.  As if a minor wrong detail will affect the bloody outcome of the story.

Chaps, do us women a favour,  just cut to the chase, the quicker the better.

Eventually this morning, I had no alternative, but to stand up, look at the clock and squeeze in ‘it’s been lovely to see you’ (now bugger off), before he told me the colour of the vehicle and what size underpants the owner wore.

Thankfully, getting the hint, he heaved himself out of the chair, picked up his Silk Cut Purple and went happily, if obliviously on his way.

My ‘gentleman friend’ is intelligent, well versed, bright and amusing in general conversation, but OMG, get him onto telling a story, and you end up hearing the ins and outs of a magpies arse………

Did he ask anything about my holiday. NO.

Did I get the chance to tell him anything about my holiday. NO.

Does the same thing happen to you?   Tell me………..

Otherwise I shall think I’m just a really rubbish ‘lady friend’ who is only interested in the sound of her own voice!