The Image.

I got some junk mail in the post this morning. Middle aged junk mail. It was from an insurance broker, and said that I deserve to save money now that I’m more ‘careful’ and ‘responsible.’ Really? And it said that if I called them, I would automatically be entered in a prize draw for a Caribbean cruise. There was a separate glossy leaflet to whet my appetite.

It displayed a picture of a big white cruise liner, which looked ostentatious. I dislike ostentation. Among other things, I find it sickly. There was another picture of four middle aged people sitting at a bar. They were obviously meant to be two happily married couples, and were the very image of middle aged stability and contentment. They looked smart and sickly; they had sickly smiles. The barman was young and handsome, and yet even his forced smile managed to look sickly. Along the top of the bar counter were four frothy drinks – two pink and two pale yellow. They looked the sickliest of all.

What are they trying to do? Make me vomit?

 

Give me a downbeat bar or a traditional English pub any time. Give me a few double scotches or a few pints of best English bitter. Give me a disreputable woman who will say things to make me giggle – for starters. And then leave me alone. I don’t fit the image.

Some bits of me don’t seem to change very much.