Grannies in the groove

My dad moved into a care home a few weeks ago as it was no longer safe for him to live alone. This follows on from my late mother who moved into a brilliant care home some years earlier as her memory disappeared with dementia. We knew the time had come for her when my dad fell in the bathroom and lay on the floor, wedged between the toilet and the wall for over twelve hours without my mum noticing he was even missing. Making him tea with cold water or gravy browning was one thing but this was a step too far.

What brought this to mind was looking at a notice board in his new home and seeing various events for the residents lined up. These included horticultural lessons, talks from guest speakers and music and dance. Anyone who knows my dad will realise that this notice is of no interest to him as he makes a hermit living in a cave look social by his standards. With my mother it was different. She loved the weekly sing songs and the dancing. It took her back to her youth and she was a young woman in her head for a short time.

She could never remember what music had been playing when I asked her but other residents told us that it was mainly war time stuff with Vera Lynn and Glen Miller type favourites. Of course, all the old ladies loved these and looked forward to them every week. Occasionally there was a comedian who would tell jokes going back to the period they knew best. This got me thinking.

Move forward a decade or two and what will it be like when the children of the 1950's are in the homes. What will the entertainment be then? It will be no good playing "we'll meet again" to them as that will be the music of their parents. Can you picture the scene? In comes the entertainer. He sets up his equipment and seconds later blasts out "One two three o clock four o clock rock and all the grannies stagger to their feet and start jiving around the room. The older gents will try their best to curl their top lips like Presley without, hopefully, their top set of dentures falling out. St John's ambulance will be outside to give oxygen and take care of dislocated hips. The cooler women will sit and hand jive whilst the teddy boys will snarl and look on with disdain.

Move forward another decade and we will have old men head banging bald heads to America by the Nice and playing air guitar to 21st century schizoid man. The folkies will try and squat on the floor when Dylan is on and aggravate pleurisy by attempting to smoke a joint after breaking a finger or two whilst rolling it. The old mods will glare at the old rockers whilst hippy grannies try to dance naked to Jefferson Airplane. The local hospital will have a deluge of dislocated hips after every Chubby Checker record.

The next decade will all dig out their flares and apply copious amounts of make up whilst getting down to Bowie and Bolan. Old men will relax back in a chair listening to "Tales from Topographic Oceans" and criticize others for "not getting it". The younger end will jump to their feet at the first hearing of. "God save the queen, it's a fascist regime" and old ladies will have the safety pins removed from their knickers and stuck through their top lips. Men with three hairs will cough up a lump of gunk and spread it through them to get an authentic punk look. And what about the comedy? Will they laugh at a Bernard Manning tribute act when a fat old bloke comes on and starts telling jokes about Pakis?

You can take this as far as the next decade where there was still a definite style. Young romantic old folk dressed like Steve Strange and cursing Joe Dolce for keeping "Vienna" from number one. I can see in my minds eye the DJ playing the gap band and all the old folk sitting on the ground rowing and then having to sit there and piss themselves waiting for the carers to come in and pick them up. Worse still, how about a granny twerking!

I have given you a glimpse of your future. Be prepared.