Open Writing

Old age does not announce itself. It creeps up on us ever so gradually and persistently until eventually we realise, with sadness and resignation, that we are no longer operating at full throttle. But most of us live in denial for as long as possible and fight to maintain the image that, outwardly at least, we are perfectly capable. Heaven forbid that that cruel unit - the extended family - should begin to think otherwise.

Vincent was finding the ageing process harder than most as his mother had always implied that he was perfect. Certainly, in her eyes, her only son was perfection personified and she persisted in calling him "Vincie Darling" all her life, and she lived to be ninety. The rest of the family, who were less biased in their everyday dealings with Vincent, found this highly amusing and would tease him mercilessly about it. His wife Felicity, in particular, was in no way falsely enamoured of him, and she would bring him back to reality, whenever he made the slightest slip up, by patting his knee and saying in a mocking tone, "There, there Vincie Darling. Every silver lining has a cloud, you know." They loved each other but they had that competitive, levelling sort of relationship where, for example, if one was having passion fruit ice cream for dessert, the other made damn sure that they were having the bitter lemon.

Vincent's first faux pas involving forgetfulness occurred when he was trying to buy tickets for his family to travel on the Sydney to Manly ferry.

"Where ya headed?" asked the friendly ticket officer.

"Um, Watson's Bay," replied Vincent.

"No, we're not," interjected his wife. "We're going to Manly."

"How many adults are there?"

"Er, four," came Vincent's answer.

"No Vincent. We are two pensioners and two adults, "corrected Felicity.

"Do you need single or return?"

"Return," said Vincent with conviction.

"Actually we only need singles," sighed Felicity, rolling her eyes.

"Listen mate," said the ticket officer, as he leant through the open window and pressed the tickets firmly into Vincent's palm, "do Sydney Ferries a favour and don't sit too close to the edge now, will you."

Vincent's next embarrassment took place in a dimly lit pub. Unfortunately for him his nephew was behind him to witness the event. Both of them were heading down a dingy passage, trying to locate the gents' loo when Vincent saw another man walking towards them. Being a polite sort of chap, Vincent stood aside and said, "After you." To his surprise, the other fellow did exactly the same thing at precisely the same moment. Vincent was talking to himself in a mirror. He bought himself a pair of multifocals after that.

Ultimately, it was one of these new fangled service stations which caused Vincent to become part of family folklore forever. Vincent needed to fill up with petrol so he pulled into the roadside services but he became so confused by the multiple signs and lanes and he ended up at the McDonald's drive thru instead. This incident took place several years ago but to this day, whenever he fills up with petrol and there are some of his many grandchildren in the back seat, they can't resist a group giggle and the inevitable chorus, "Grandpa, do you want fries with that?"

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