Old old old

Back in Melbourne.  My frail 91 years elapsed Mum to fit into the Protea Retirement Village. A giant motel full of people steering walkers around the concrete paths. Greeting each other with disquasitions on their ailments or unsatisfactory offspring.  All of them monuments to modern medicine. 
I was talking to Mum and her father drifted into the conversation. He was a non-commisioned officer in the Royal Artilery stationed for eight years in India. Lost his leg in a parade ground accident where he was run over by a gun carriage. Bad doctoring precipitrated gangrene. Invalided home to England and while on recuperation leave met my Grand Mother whose parents owned a pub. He must have thought he had died and gone to heaven.
From gangrenous amputations to multiple cardiac bypass operations and arifical joints in only a bit over 100 years.
It is curious. When I wander around home I am always surrounded by and aware of kids of all ages every where. They chat with you and each other. They zoom around on there skate boards. I was out and about with Mum around Cranbourne abd Carrum Downs and I saw only a handfull of people under 16. Everyone was fat and old.

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