Opinion

Anita Robinson: In the autumn of my days I'm on the mailing list for every cockamamie panacea for all the world’s ills

<span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif, Arial, Verdana, &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;; ">I suffer from IBS. No, not irritable bowel syndrome, but Impulse Buying Syndrome</span>
I suffer from IBS. No, not irritable bowel syndrome, but Impulse Buying Syndrome I suffer from IBS. No, not irritable bowel syndrome, but Impulse Buying Syndrome

I don’t know how long it’s been since you read George Orwell’s ‘1984’, but I feel I’m living it.

‘Big Brother’ is definitely watching us all – and me in particular. Big Brother knows every detail of my life – my age, the state of my health, my income, my interests, my lifestyle and probably the name of my cat, if I had one.

Having reached a certain age, Big Brother manifests his solicitous concern for my wellbeing in manifold ways, chiefly through a letterbox tsunami of well-meaning but unsolicited leaflets, brochures and never-to-be repeated special offers of relief for my physical ills, mental unease and the consequent promise of balm to my soul. Generally these are conveyed from doormat to dustbin unopened. No matter. He has other means of ambushing the unwary. Afternoon television programmes, the fodder of the somnolent elderly, are interrupted by adverts for riser/recliner chairs, stairlifts, walk-in baths, battery-operated pain-relieving devices, quasi-medical aids, unguents and supplements for continued good health and mobility, often endorsed by celebrities.

The sight of Eamonn Holmes and his wife Ruth, grinning inanely together on the sofa, their bare feet on a vibrating plate for the relief of foot pain makes me shriek with laughter.

No facet of senior living is uncatered for. Life insurance (guaranteed cash payout) equity release, (don’t make your children wait for their inheritance), funeral plans and cremation options are presented in palatably affable guise. If you spot that man with the box of parsnips cheerfully discussing paying in advance for his funeral in ‘you know it makes sense’ mode, get up and boil the kettle for a drop of tea. Nobody needs reminding, particularly in the middle of ‘Dickinson’s Real Deal’ that life’s rail journey is a single ticket to the terminus and one could hit the buffers anytime.

Alas, I suffer from IBS. No, not irritable bowel syndrome, but Impulse Buying Syndrome. It appears to be an inherited condition. Auntie Mollie was a sucker for snake-oil sales pitches. The postman wore a path to her door with mail-order relief for her many (mostly psychosomatic) ailments. She bought remedies for conditions I’d never heard of. The ‘great thing’ inevitably turned out to be “only a catchpenny.”

Now, in the autumn of my days I find myself on the mailing list for every cockamamie panacea for all the world’s ills. This clever policy of suggestibility persuades perfectly intelligent and healthy people they may not be in such good twig. Playing upon the groundless fears of the susceptible at three in the morning that every niggle, every twinge, could be the start of Something Serious, they claim “We have the remedy!” In cahoots is the cosmetic industry who assure the eradication of wrinkles and restore youthful appearance by rubbing your face with a jade roller, or for the courageous, chemically-based peels. All these pander to our vanity and fear of ageing. It’s tile-grouting cement my face needs.

An unsolicited bulky envelope arrived yesterday containing 16 pages of information, rave reviews from ‘satisfied clients over 50’, and a sealed sachet containing a single ‘detox foot patch’ with the promise to “remove millions of damaging toxins, pollutants and parasites while you sleep. Stick the white patch to the sole of one foot. By morning it will be black (the patch, not the foot) having sucked all the toxins from the body.” Apparently this can restore me to perfect health by getting rid of more than 66 health conditions in less than five nights. (Sorry to be pedantic, but shouldn’t that read ‘fewer than’?) The patches contain plant-based derivatives originating in China and are reputed to eliminate, relieve or prevent problems as diverse as anxiety, arthritis, hair loss, high blood pressure, indigestion, insomnia, varicose veins and verruccas – and the clincher for women, rosacea and wrinkles. There’s little point in feeling young at heart if the outer wrapper’s got a bit creased.

Recommended treatment – 10 days.

2 feet = 2 packs of 10 patches.

That’ll be £55 pounds please.

Auntie Mollie, thou shouldst be living at this hour….