Book Review

I have just finished reading a book called “NO! I Don’t Want to Join a Book Club – A diary of growing old disgracefully.”

I don’t think I ever have ever read a book that depressed me more.

It starts off okay. Our protagonist once ‘slept with a Beatle’. Cool. My era. Sadly I never slept with one but I did once speak to one on the phone. It was ????. Not John, Paul or Ringo. The other one. S**t! I’m having a senior moment.

The author is now 60 and retired. She does not want to join a book club. You may have gathered that.

She has ‘watery eyes’, ‘a touch of osteoarthritis’ She craves for the company of the young. There are endless chapters on how she feels when she looks in the mirror. She describes how, once upon a time, she would put on her tights, balancing on one foot. Now she ‘rolls back like a hedgehog , legs waggling in the air’.

Okay. I go with this stuff. It’s when she starts on what is acceptable for the over sixties to wear I start getting tense. No trousers, and never, never, ‘stone coloured trainers’. Actually I don’t recall ever seeing ‘stone coloured trainers’. But obviously they are a big no no in her life. She has no time for scarves of any description. Says they are simply there to cover scraggy, tortoise like necks. I happen to agree with her here. Unfortunately my entire wardrobe consists of trousers and trainers (Not stone coloured). Happily I have few scarves and those I have relate purely to icy winds.

Whatever. She writes well (this is a best seller, presumably). And depending on your sense of humour, she is funny.

Half way through the book her son produces a grandchild for her. And that’s it. Apart from her endless friends either dieing from cancer, or imagining they are dieing of cancer, she goes soft in the head. Obsessed. I have no problem with grandchildren, but they sure as hell are not the be all and end all. Been there. Done that.

This wretched little book has done more to make me aware of my age than anything else. I awoke with some surprise this morning, having expected to die over night from dozens of ailments I have never even thought of.

“Growing old disgracefully???” Sweetie, I have news for you. You know nothing.


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13 Responses to Book Review

  1. d1nx says:

    Hahaha… you are still hilarious, even if depressed from this book. This is the reason I haven’t written publicly for so long… I’m getting old so fast, AND going downhill so fast, with so many ailments and aches and surgery to have ANd I’ve lost so many friends in the past 2 years – much too depressing to share! I obviously have nothing else to talk about. I certainly wouldn’t write a book about the misery. It is a depressing subject! LOL. Luvvies xxx

    • footsy2 says:

      Dearest Dinx, I do hope you get to behave disgracefully occasionally. The only positive when you lose your friends is knowing there will be a wonderful welcoming committee on the other side :-).

  2. Gunta says:

    Well, I now know what NOT to put on my reading list! Thanks for the warning. 😮 Sounds like someone needing to get a life.

  3. Arkenaten says:

    Yeah, you got to have Moves like Jagger..and Sir Mick is clocking 70. It’s all in the mind.
    This does not sound like my kind of book either, and I’m only 29 and bit.

  4. Sonel says:

    LOL Footsie. I believe if it was you that wrote a book like that, it would be a best-seller by now.

    “Craving for the company of the young” – good heavens noooooo! I’ve also seen a lot of ‘over-sixties’ ladies that looks great in trousers and trainers. As for the grandchildren, I don’t want any and told my boys that. Not in this age with the economic as it is and the pocket money they call salaries. We surely don’t need anything to remind us of our ‘age’. I am sure you can teach her a few lessons for sure. 😀

    Great post! 😀

  5. Ruth2Day says:

    LOL! stone trainers and scraggy necks. Tell me that isn’t in the future for me?

  6. colonialist says:

    And for your next bit of reading pleasure, I’m sure you will be happy to buy the book I am going to write entitled, ‘Death Begins at Forty’.

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