|Me aged 40, taken by Eileen. I was a lot less wrinkly, a lot less sorted, and with my own hair colour.|
So here we are, Eileen and I, on our sofas, our combined ages are 106. I look over at her and think she looks just the same as she ever does, and I am not asking her if she looks over at me and thinks the same thing in case she says No. You are a wrinkled old bat, but you are very nice. We will stop to have our lunch and then because we are old and wise we will go into the studio and Eileen will continue to edit her new film, and I will paint the first of the True Fairies that I have been working on. No messing around for us. Time is ticking, we have work to do. I may be doing mine in smaller trousers (stretchy ones, they have to go over my varicose veins) and Eileen may look as she did to me when I met her at nineteen, but age is a funny old business, and it either spurs you on to do wonders, or it depresses you into doing nothing.
|Me, thirteen years later, aged 53, taken by Alan who is twelve years older than me and doesn't make half the fuss.|
|My mother. At 83, she is beautiful and funny and old. A good role model, and you can see where I get the tea thing from.|