It was my birthday at the weekend. A friend helped me into what is—oh dear, oh dear—a new decade by providing a cutting from a French magazine: Les sexygénaires: la vie recommence à 60 ans. He, however, isn’t the only person to have noticed that I’ve now reached the Freedom Pass years. The messages that I get in my spam box seem to have changed. They used to promise a level of nocturnal vitality that I couldn’t possibly go into here. Now, I’m treated as though I’ve already entered a care home.
From salutations extolling my virility (and offering a variety of supposed means to enhance it), the greeting has become ‘Hello Dear’. A message from Sallie calls me Mr Dependable, before beginning: ‘I am Tanya.’ Tanya, I think you need to get your identity sorted out before age-stereotyping other people. ‘Romeo!!!’ screams Serena (although three exclamation marks are probably justified in this case). ‘Is romance still left in you?’ Still??? (If I may use the style of punctuation favoured in these communications.) I’d like to give that Serena some advice on tact. I’d also like to rid my computer of the ‘malware’ and ‘adware’ that supplies my details to scurrilous third parties. Fortunately, much of my spam is in Russian and I’ve no idea what it says.