THE media coverage of the 89-year-old “bored stiff pensioner” seeking employment struck a chord with me, but I feel that often it’s loneliness rather than boredom that’s the real problem.
I’m in my 74th year and for the first time I have to cope with living alone. I’m never bored, I’m a voracious reader, but as I’m gregarious and garrulous I find the lack of company extremely hard.
Some time ago I worked with a colleague whose mother had recently died and one night she told me she was going home to talk to her mum. I seriously doubted her sanity, but now I understand.
I talk to my late wife, sometimes its deliberate as I walk past her chair, stroke it and say, “no more suffering or upset” but often it’s involuntary as I read something and turn to say, “listen to this”, before my voice trails off as I realise Bridget is no longer there.
Last night I stood at my back door chatting to next door’s cat as she devoured the treats I’d put down for her.
I may get a parrot but with my luck it’ll turn out to be foul mouthed.
VJ Connor, Bishop Auckland
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