Amazing how confusing new formats can be. Since Saturday I have been using a Mac Lion compatible version of Word, and I feel like a little old lady trying to adjust to a computer. The old lady thing is a sore point right now. I keep dwelling on the aging thing. I think it is since I watched the BAFTA awards a week or so back. George Clooney was there in all his craggy splendour, and I found myself reflecting on the unjustness of this - men can get craggy and wrinkly (as long as it is in the right places - say no more) and people swoon over their mature good looks. They can even be bald, or greying at the temples, or a bit of both. I am forced to admit that some men really do improve with age - Christopher Plummer is a notable exception, however, but he really is past it. But apply this principle to women. Take one in her prime, let's say Natalie Portman, resplendently smooth-skinned and sleekly brunettish. Give her a bald patch, crow's feet and marionette lines and do you really believe she'd still be the face of Chanel (or wherever)? I think not. There are some women in the spotlight today who may be seen as on the verge. Still clinging on to youth, but they are over 50 and can't seem to throw in the towel. And why should they? The 'looking great at 70' examples that are thrust upon us on a regular basis - Racquel Welch is one - have quite clearly been under the knife. Well, I can enlighten you. Apparently, there is nothing more invisible and lacking in clout than an elderly lady. Unless you are a queen (think Elizabeth, Beatrix and Margerethe of Denmark) or Mother Theresa, nobody takes any notice of you whatsoever. I read an article recently by an old woman who claimed she never got served in the pub. People make jokes about Granny cars, Granny clothes, especially Granny pants (and I mean the Brit version). There is nothing to look forward to for us women, is there. Unless, perhaps, you are a grand RSC dame, like Judi Dench or Maggie Smith.
A quick subject change might be good before all my female readers over 35 go off and start contemplating their dismal future. I haven't blogged for over two weeks, which is simply shocking. An anonymous and impatient follower of mine alerted me to the fact yesterday evening, deploring the 'complete lack of activity' in this forum and daring to deduce that I might have been busy. You know who you are (even if I don't). True, I have, but I am always busy, but the last fortnight particularly so, as we were seeing out the 'fifth season', as it is known here (Fasching, or carnival time, which in spite of its comic undertones is taken extremely seriously). The season culminated in a parade through the village, which was actually quite spectacular, but I would have enjoyed it so much more if it hadn't been blizzarding the whole day long. In an attempt to enter into the spirit of things I went along in fancy dress, but after half an hour was forced to retreat and put on my full winter clothing, and even then I was freezing.
Then I was ill and off work for a few days and thought it might look too jolly if I blogged from my sickbed. One's employer might get the wrong impression, and we all know how careful we have to be in these days of social networking. As I really was ill I would have had a clear conscience, but goodness knows there are enough people out there who have been caught out being hyperchondriacal or even worse bad-mouthing their employer. There are those who argue for our rights to express ourselves on Facebook. That if we wanted to make our feelings known about our boss, we should be able to do so without fear of retribution. Some report I read compared this right to Speaker's Corner at Hyde Park in London, where anyone can go and stand and rave about whatever bee is currently in their bonnet. The report maintained that one could be heard doing this, so what was the difference between ranting in public and online? To which my answer is, a great deal. The written word can always, always come back to haunt you.
I must leave you now. Max is playing with the mop bucket, which is full of dirty water and liable to capsize. He would get the shock of his life which would be amusing, but then I'd have to clear up the mess. Not worth it, really.
A quick subject change might be good before all my female readers over 35 go off and start contemplating their dismal future. I haven't blogged for over two weeks, which is simply shocking. An anonymous and impatient follower of mine alerted me to the fact yesterday evening, deploring the 'complete lack of activity' in this forum and daring to deduce that I might have been busy. You know who you are (even if I don't). True, I have, but I am always busy, but the last fortnight particularly so, as we were seeing out the 'fifth season', as it is known here (Fasching, or carnival time, which in spite of its comic undertones is taken extremely seriously). The season culminated in a parade through the village, which was actually quite spectacular, but I would have enjoyed it so much more if it hadn't been blizzarding the whole day long. In an attempt to enter into the spirit of things I went along in fancy dress, but after half an hour was forced to retreat and put on my full winter clothing, and even then I was freezing.
Then I was ill and off work for a few days and thought it might look too jolly if I blogged from my sickbed. One's employer might get the wrong impression, and we all know how careful we have to be in these days of social networking. As I really was ill I would have had a clear conscience, but goodness knows there are enough people out there who have been caught out being hyperchondriacal or even worse bad-mouthing their employer. There are those who argue for our rights to express ourselves on Facebook. That if we wanted to make our feelings known about our boss, we should be able to do so without fear of retribution. Some report I read compared this right to Speaker's Corner at Hyde Park in London, where anyone can go and stand and rave about whatever bee is currently in their bonnet. The report maintained that one could be heard doing this, so what was the difference between ranting in public and online? To which my answer is, a great deal. The written word can always, always come back to haunt you.
I must leave you now. Max is playing with the mop bucket, which is full of dirty water and liable to capsize. He would get the shock of his life which would be amusing, but then I'd have to clear up the mess. Not worth it, really.
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