This time next month I'll have been in paid employment (give or take a few short patches when I was out of work) for fifty years.
I've already got my form for applying for my superannuitant benefit - which my daughter tells me requires me to produce several original documents proving I am who I say I am. (There's not actually anyone else I'd really want to say I was, I don't think!).
I'm in the fortunate position of being able to continue working at least until the end of the year. And I guess, if there was work available, I might carry on longer.
I don't particularly feel like a 65-year-old. My grandfather died at this age - and looked like an old man - he'd probably worked much harder than I've ever had to. My father was dead by the time he was 63, and he'd not looked after himself in the last years, as far as I can make out. I guess there's still a month in which I could not make it to 65, and anyway it's no great achievement living longer than your forebears; I'm certain I haven't really had a hand in prolonging my life!
The general health of the population in New Zealand is such that 65 is almost getting to the point of not being seen as old, and those 'old' people around who are similar ages all look pretty good.
Well, God willing, I'll let you know when I celebrate my 65th birthday. Or, if there's a grand silence from this blog, you'll know I'll still be in God's hands, just celebrating in a different kind of way!