Recently I applied for a new passport. Since I have travelled almost from birth, I am calculating that I must have missed a year at some point because I seem to have applied for passports at 41 and 51 years old, so must have done 21, and 31 too but don't remember those as well! Although I can remember the studio portraits we had taken when I was 11. And I seem to remember I was very grumpy in my 31 year-old photo because there was a strike at the passport office and I was in a hurry to visit a boyfriend in Mallorca!
The problem always arises with the photo, doesnt it? There are very stringent rules about the photo - not too near, not too far, not too big, not too small, no glare from your glasses, no smile at least not with teeth, no one else in the photo with you (!), no hats - and on it goes. Immediately the rebel in me emerges, but anyway I suppress it and endure the three minutes in the booth and come out with something which will serve for ID purposes only, which is a shame, as my photo when I was 41 was, well - no other word for it - gorgeous!
In the photo taken when I was 41 I look perky, youthful, fresh-faced, optimistic and fuckable.
Dear Reader, at 51, sad to say I look haggard, grey, resigned, knackered, past it, an old bag, miserable washed up, and fucked.
Not unreasonably, I am looking around for someone or something to blame. Who stole my Forties?
What could have caused this deterioration? What has happened to me in the last decade to see me so awfully transfigured by time and experience?
Well, I have moved house three or four times, had three or four new cars, three or four new (and old) boyfriends, my cat died, so did my Mum, I turned 50, I studied for and mastered a new profession, I bought several investment properties, started a handful of new businesses, I travelled on said passport on many thrilling trips to Tobago, the States, Dubai, Corsica, France, Mexico, the Caribbean, you name it, I’ve been there and its all been wonderful and even though the journeys themselves these days are getting more and more tiring, travel rests and reinvigorates and broadens the mind. And I love to travel.
No, that can’t be it.
I feel a bit like Tony Blair who you will recall started the same decade young and fresh-faced and optimistic and sexy and vibrant like me and equally during that same decade has lost his good looks, his youth, his hair and his teeth and more. And poor bloke, he did it in the full glare and analysis of the critical public eye. And he can't even blame the menopause!
I think I have pinpointed a few culprits and excellently I have curtailed their influence in my life, and I remember that I gave myself and my energy to them willingly. And now the task before me is to find myself at 61 looking more like I did at 41 than 51. I'm thinking its going to be challenging and fun, and it won't involve any hair dye.
Any anyway, you know what they say, if you look like your passport photograph, you are not well enough to travel!
As someone nearing the big 30 I couldn't help but laugh at this. Is this what I have to look forward to. It's enough to drive me to Botox! ;-)
Posted by: Fiona "Guildford printing.com" Humberstone | January 03, 2008 at 06:04 AM