Ancient marathon runner Buster Martin is the perfect role model - for frown lines, laughter lines, double-chin implants, sensible shoes, nose hair, blue rinses and, well, just growing old, suggests Elspeth McLean.
Ancient marathon runner Buster Martin may be a revolutionary. What he may lack in gravitas, he makes up for with gusto. And there's no need for a makeover either.
He already looks like a rather startled Fidel Castro, minus the uniform. Although in most photos he seems to have his mouth open, there is no suggestion he shares Fidel's penchant for multihour speeches which left people fainting with boredom. That's surely a good thing.
Buster ruffled a few feathers recently when he claimed to be the oldest person to run the London Marathon at the age of 101. He finished the run in about 10 hours, and was quoted as saying afterwards he would have been faster but for his regular beer and fag breaks.
His run raised 20,000 (NZ$50,000) for the Rhys Daniels Trust, which provides home-style accommodation for children receiving treatment in specialist hospitals.
Sadly, his age could not be verified to the satisfaction of Guinness Book of Records officials. The closest they could come to establishing it was his National Health Service record which says he is 94.
There are also questions about other parts of his colourful life story, including his claims to have 17 children. He says he was born in France following his mother's illegitimate pregnancy. Later, he was sent to a Cornish orphanage. It was there he was nicknamed Buster at the age of 3 for whacking a priest on the nose.
One of his other claims to fame is as a singer for The Zimmers, a group of elderly rockers whose lead singer is 90.
His employers, Pimlico Plumbers (he cleans vans for them), who have made much of his status as supposedly the United Kingdom's oldest employee, are sticking to their plungers over the age question.
Managing director Charlie Mullins says the firm has documents from the Home Office proving his age and when Buster's passport comes through in the next few weeks the issue will be settled once and for all.
And Buster, according to the Pimlico website, says he doesn't care about any Guinness world record - "the only Guinness I'm interested in is one I can drink.''
It's easy to get despondent about this storm in a beer mug. Why couldn't we have been left to revel in the story, regardless of its truth?
Even if we can already hardly be bothered to muster the energy to stretch past our expanding midriffs to tie our own shoelaces, it gives us hope that when we enter our second centuries we would be more than capable of smoking and drinking our way through a marathon or two.
And, if we were telling our own life stories, how many of the characters in them would agree with our version?
Has Buster been the victim of a public relations stunt gone askew?
In true PR style, perhaps we should accentuate the positive. Could the Buster story signal the start of a new trend?
Instead of searching for eternal youth, people could start seeking eternal old age.
Forget pretending to be younger than we are, let's all start adding at least 10 years to our real age. (There is evidence that many have that trait in teenage, but an as yet scientifically undescribed metamorphosis means they shuck it off as soon as the legal drinking age is
reached).
Silicon implants will be replaced by gravity enhancers (yet to be invented, but give me time) which will be capable of making anything with a tendency to droop instantly 30cm closer to the floor.
Anti-wrinkle creams and Botox jabs will give way to preparations guaranteed to add frown lines, laughter lines, and crepey necks. Double-chin implants, potions to make you bald and others to encourage the sprouting of coarse hair in ears, noses, chins and any other usually undesirable place will be essentials for the new ancients.
The blue rinse will make a comeback, along with sensible shoes, thick stockings and the full-length pinny.
Men who have felt compelled to make fools of themselves pursuing attractive young women might find a new freedom to move beyond the superficial when the only partners available all have faces like a relief map of the southern alps.
The bottom will drop out of the Viagra market but dropped bottoms of all persuasions will be so common it will hardly be noticeable. Slipper sales will soar.
We will all be able to tell outrageous stories about our lives and nobody will turn a hair because we are old and our memories aren't what they used to be.
Those silly enough to run marathons or undertake anything else ridiculously energetic will find they can't set age-related records because no-one will care. Wrinkled couch potatoes of the world, rejoice.
- Elspeth Mclean is a Dunedin writer.
