@AutoInfatuation 18s look old money class, much more tasteful. These with a nice 3x3 plate will have more presence than a footballer spec one worth 10x more.
@YesterdaysBrit1 Ah yes.
You forgot the 2 lady customers with their hair in rollers discussing what had happened at number 24 last night in hushed voices .
@AutoInfatuation I love cars from this period (Insignia for me) but they are ~20 years old now, and not being premium, most will not have had the best of care. I wonder if this boat has passed?
*One month before her 95th birthday, Patricia Routledge wrote something that still gently echoes:*
**โIโll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry โ worry that I wasnโt quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldnโt live up to my motherโs hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude.โ**
My life didnโt quite take shape until my forties. I had worked steadily โ on provincial stages, in radio plays, in West End productions โ but I often felt adrift, as though I was searching for a home within myself that I hadnโt quite found.
At 50, I accepted a television role that many would later associate me with โ Hyacinth Bucket, of Keeping Up Appearances. I thought it would be a small part in a little series. I never imagined that it would take me into peopleโs living rooms and hearts around the world. And truthfully, that role taught me to accept my own quirks. It healed something in me.
At 60, I began learning Italian โ not for work, but so I could sing opera in its native language. I also learned how to live alone without feeling lonely. I read poetry aloud each evening, not to perfect my diction, but to quiet my soul.
At 70, I returned to the Shakespearean stage โ something I once believed I had aged out of. But this time, I had nothing to prove. I stood on those boards with stillness, and audiences felt that. I was no longer performing. I was simply being.
At 80, I took up watercolor painting. I painted flowers from my garden, old hats from my youth, and faces I remembered from the London Underground. Each painting was a quiet memory made visible.
Now, at 95, I write letters by hand. Iโm learning to bake rye bread. I still breathe deeply every morning. I still adore laughter โ though I no longer try to make anyone laugh. I love the quiet more than ever.
**Iโm writing this to tell you something simple:**
**Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter โ if you let yourself bloom again.**
Let these years ahead be your *treasure years*.
You donโt need to be famous. You donโt need to be flawless.
You only need to show up โ fully โ for the life that is still yours.
*With love and gentleness,*
โ Patricia Routledge