When my father turned 90, he bought himself a manual lawnmower. He had decided that his reliable Flymo was not giving him enough of a workout, and that he needed a bit more resistance.
At the time, we thought that it would be just another contraption that would soon be on its way to the tip but, that summer, he gave that machine a run for its money. Afterwards, he would sit on the patio, enjoying a cold beer, admiring his handiwork.
The Christmas before he died, at the age of 94, we had a wine glass engraved with his personal maxim, “Wine, women & exercise”. This was his standard response to questioning about how he remained in such fine fettle for his advanced years.
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