I've just returned from the South Island, combining work and pleasure into another terrific trip. The purpose of the 11-day excursion was always to fulfil a combination of objectives.
On the first night in Christchurch, I attended a much anticipated fundraiser for Christchurch's Lady Isaac Theatre Royal – by Rocky Horror Show creator Richard O'Brien. I'm not one to miss a chance to do the time warp again and the show not only raised $30,000 towards the restoration of the theatre, it did not disappoint. Richard is now 71. He's got million dollar legs and can still do a high kick like someone 50 years younger. He's a living legend, still with a cult following which has continued to grow from the first show in 1973. As we watched him dancing vigorously across the footlights, we agreed we'd like to be as fit as he is at 71. I don't know about you, but the fact is, I've already missed that deadline. I'm nowhere near as fit, despite not yet being 60.
Bear with me as I appear to lose the plot and turn to a completely unrelated topic. You see, I have recently signed up a new tenant for the downstairs flat. Liz is an 81-year-old. She's part of the Hip Op-eration Crew which has recently been seen on New Zealand's Got Talent. That appearance came hot on the heels of the group's outstanding performance at the World Hip Hop Championships in Las Vegas, during August. You can see that performance on their Facebook page.
I hesitate to say this inspiring group refuses to be defined by age, because they redefine age. The concept of being old and infirm disappears into oblivion when you experience the joy of their performances.
Too often in an age of impossibly Photo-Shopped and botoxed 'older' role models with one or several rounds of cosmetic surgery quietly tucked under their chins, older folk can feel as if they have all but disappeared. I certainly do, so it was a real thrill to see I could still turn heads while travelling recently in the South Island in my sleek, late model rental car. For three days as I drove around Otago, I felt pretty chuffed. On the third day, I drove in to a petrol station outside of Timaru and found out why I was turning heads. No, it was not my carefully put together outfit of Super City Black, or my grief-blonde hair and 'Aphrodite' red lips; nor even my new Youth Code face cream.
When I pulled up to the petrol pump (for the second time – the first time I had to reverse back because the petrol cap was on the other side) a pleasant older gentleman was immediately there to look after me. I was beginning to feel quite good.
Pride fells us swiftly.
"Mmmm. Nice car," he said. "We haven't had many of those in here yet. Rental is it?"
I suddenly felt as grey and colourless as the concrete forecourt on which I was standing and almost wished I could disappear quietly in to it. Then I remembered my wonderful tenant Liz. I wonder if she'd consider giving me dance lessons?
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