October 1965….and The Who top the charts talking ’bout my g…g…generation. And it was my generation. I was 13 years old. As it turns out Keith Moon died aged 32 and John Entwistle died aged 57. Pete Townshend is still alive at 67 and Roger Daltry is 68.

My father hated the song…he didnt like any pop song of course but perhaps “My Generation” he hated most. The negativity.

My father who had been chronically ill most of his adult life died aged 67. My mother was almost 91 when she died. If we are honest we all want to die before we get old and probably we never get to think about it much until we actually “see” old age.

Crucially SOME young people see or used to see old age in their own extended families. My grandparents had all died by the time I was 9 years old so I never got to really see old age until I was well into my adult life. My mother and my aunt died in 2003 and 2004 and both suffered dementia.

We often try and pretend that old age can be fulfilling …..I am sure it is….but really only for a minority of people. Frankly I am not bothered about the cost to the “taxpayer” of living to be 100 years old….indeed I intend to screw the British  taxpayer out of every last cent. I am of course concerned about the effect on the lives of my own children…an elderly and sickly relative (in mind or body) is a strain and of course there is the financial strain of nursing home costs.

Ah the financial strain. It is of course my intention that this house and all my worldly goods pass to my sons. Id feel cheated if my wife or I was widowed early and the survivor became old and frail and the greater share of the nest egg went to the State to cover the expense of nursing homes.

In an ideal world, every child would have healthy parents who lived to be 85 and then died in their sleep. Thats what I wish for my sons.

Margaret Thatcher ruined it all. When people didnt live so long….and when the State thought retirement home provision was their responsibility and when the extended family meant more……..the assumption was that (if needed) old peoples home were plentiful.

But Thatcher introduced the Market. With various degrees of care, provision of old peoples homes was handed over to the private sector. Essentially a two-tier system emerged. Allegedly better care in the private sector. Allegedly basic care in the State.

Of course thats how upper middle class people thought it would be. But it didnt work out like that. As the State sector collapsed, more “ordinary folks” went into the private sector homes…the bill being paid by the State. They had rooms next to the “privately funded” (from their sale of houses and assets etc).

The situation…..which I as a socialist love ….is that it is probably better to be poor than rich. At least your children wont lose out.

Of course old age is often an unattractive problem. Ask any man of 60…..not just me…..and they will say “dont put me in a home”. Ive not seen an old persons home which I actually liked. I love my house. I love the fact that I am surrounded by my……..archive……….Archive is perhaps a strange word but it is as good as any. Over six decades  I have accumulated stuff…..photographs, books, toy soldiers, records etc. I have pushed the limits of my life in some ways. And I dont want my life restricted….physically, mentally or put into one small room.

Nor do I wish to lose my cat. I dont want to sit in a communal TV room watching “Countdown” and thanking God that Im not as near death as the old codger next to me. Nor do I want to look at the goldfish or the two budgies in the hall……….or wait for the nice lady who brings the golden labrador for the old folks to stroke.

No life is ever enhanced by going into …..even the best…old folks home……I dont want a communal dining room and I dont want regularly assessed by a social worker. Nor do I want to spend the 12th July in some God forsaken old folks home in Bangor, Antrim, Coleraine and dutifully asked if I want to go out to the end of the garden to watch the Orangemen pass……..NO F****** WAY. Nor do I want to be intimidated by the sight of fellow residents like Gertie and Elizabeth in their red, white and blue finery watching the latest “Royal Wedding” on TV.

Nor do I want invited to the Sunday night religious sing song. Nor do I want an Easter Egg from St Vincent de Paul or a selection box from the Salvation Army. And I can handle my own postal vote thanks very much nurse…………just SDLP #1 and Sinn Féin #2 and I dont care if your cousin is standing for the UUP and I dont dare mention the bastards in the Alliance Party to me.

Thats the problem with old age. It is very democratic. They dont really do Catholic or Protestant homes any more……no barriers, no walls. It no longer matters? But am I to restrict my conversation in the TV lounge when David Ford is on UTV and (worse still) Chris Lyttle is on BBC?

Thats the problem with losing “independence”. We become bland. A “lets get alongerist” paradise.

Actually being 40 was brilliant. I was at the height of my powers…….young family, good job. Being 50 was terrible…….the worry of relatives in nursing homes, my health was not good and the job did not seem that great after all.

I feared being 60……but actually it is turning out rather pleasant. I have outlived my fears……except the one about living in a “home”. This decade is crucial and possibly even the next year will define the decade.

Frankly my g..g…g..generation was not really supposed to grow old. Still I have a repetoire of 1960s hits with which I can entertain my fellow residents. Come on old folks……..all together now “hope I die before I get old”