"When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple*"

This woman looks fabulous. Her existence epitomises everything that can be wonderful about old age, and not an ounce of melancholy and slow decline that lingers around some of the older generation was about her.

She was perched partially astraddle a chunky bicycle complete with pack storage box strapped to the back. Immersed in conversation with another older lady her attire set her apart from her companion entirely. She was a vision in varying shades of plum, purple, violet and mauve. Her outfit was definitely not designed gfor cycling agility and swiftness of movement however cycling she was. I marvelled at how elegant she was in her purple high heels, plum tights, full pleat A-line skirt in a deep shade of indigo, and juicy-plum blouse all shades completing each other perfectly like a slow matured vintage reserve botte of the finest, most delicate bottle of vino with flavours of ripe summer berries and a robust finish.

I was not the only person to notice her in her purple splendour. Many we craning around to gave at her awe struck. Admiring. She seemed totally unperturbed by the attention she was receiving. continuing her holly conversation with her friend; completely unremarkable by comparison. Not unpleasant to look at, just plain and ordinary. One wonders if she marvels at her resplendent, elegant friend the same way we do, or if she sees past her glamorous attire to a dignified old lady with the same interests and ideals as herself.

This woman entered my life, from a distance for a few moments, but the way she presented herself and held herself whist in such bold finery left a lasting impression on me and perhaps others on the bus. Anyone fearing getting old need only to look at her, in her purple glory and realise that life is what you make of it.

Warning

by

Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple

with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired

and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

and run my stick along the public railings

and make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

and pick the flowers in other people's gardens

and learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

and eat three pounds of sausages at a go

or only bread and pickles for a week

and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

and pay our rent and not swear in the street

and set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.