Open Writing

People who complain live longer – the passive are more likely to die first. Doctors have discovered that among the elderly, it’s the complainers who outlive the submissive.

So stop taking things in your stride, start living now – go out and nag at somebody today. At least we needn’t worry about the young being short-lived if my mutinous brood are any indication, they could prove immortal. The problem is my generation were not brought up to complain. At home and at school we were taught to endure – or else. Every Sunday it was taken for granted my sister and I would stand for tea, if we had company. Not just out of respect - we hadn’t enough chairs.

When the ice cream man rang his bell it was always penny cornets for us kids and twopenny wafers for the adults. I only argued once – that afternoon I didn’t get my cornet.

Complaining was classed as being cheeky. Great store was set by having good manners, being courteous, being seen and not heard. It was important to create a good impression on our elders. Virtues that are apparently on the decline today, freedom and noise seem to take priority. Authorities bend over backward protecting our youth from any sort of distress. Yet overcoming adversity is one of the greatest character builders I know.

Working mothers are blamed for their children’s misdemeanours. It has become fashionable to excuse young ‘latch key’ rebels, because they are bored. What is to stop them getting on with some housework or shopping or perhaps cooking mum’s tea for a change?

My mum had to work to support us during the war. It was the blight of my life having to clean out the grate and light the fire and lay the table before she came home at 5 o’clock while my mates were out getting into all sorts of trouble. In my opinion it’s the hardworking mum who needs pampering.

So I must admit I have had to learn the subtle art of complaining. One of my relatives is an expert at putting down the ignorant. When she was tired of waiting for an insolent young draper to finish chatting up his girlfriend once, she eventually leaned across the counter and politely said, ‘Awfully sorry to interrupt, I know having to serve customers must make conversations so frustrating – DO YOU MIND!’

This attitude works better than a frayed temper approach. When one of my daughters came home in her new shoes, leaning like the Tower of Pisa, I tried it on a shoe shop manager. ‘The heels are pointing the wrong way and she has only worn them at weekends’ I complained. ‘Just for discos?’ he grinned sarcastically. That remark put an end to my courteous cover-up. To cut a long battle short, my final spluttering was ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

The blood was galloping round my eyeballs now, he had the sort of ‘I’m in charge’ composure which made you want to run your fingers through his rows of tidy shoes, then throw them at him one by one. I was really at my complaining peak when he suddenly disappeared through a gap in the shoe boxes. Surprisingly he did not return with a copper, but presented me with a new pair of shoes.

‘And tell them you want your money back,’ my family advised me from their armchairs as I obediently toddled back with our hamster’s fun boot; which had almost put our pet in a wheelchair for life when he got stuck in it. The pet shop manageress was so humble I needn’t have splashed out on a packet of chewing gum, normally a valuable confidence booster.

Funny how things turn out. There she is pleading with me to take the money, there am I saying – no – it’s not that – and of course it is not you fault. I know, I know, my passivity is killing me!