In the macho world of defence services, tambola buffs have no difficulty in responding to the call ‘Men get naughty at…” There is, of course, no earthly reason why women, too, cannot get naughty at that age. But in less politically correct times, the forties were considered perhaps the last decade when there was life still left in one’s bones to have a final fling before senescence set in. At this stage of the life cycle, there was hardly a presumption that it represented the climax of one’s life.
But the certitudes of pop sociology — which a credulous media seems only too willing to peddle — now decree that the forties are now the new twenties. That this is the period when most people achieve what they want, with 46 being the ‘magic’ age at which life is at its peak. Interestingly, what people do in this period is similar to what Marx said of the capitalist class: “Accumulate, Accumulate, That’s Moses and the Prophets!”
If this is the dynamic of the Middle Ages, it is something of an anti-climax to note that the denizens of this age only manage to squirrel away household possessions, gadgets and designer clothing. If they do get naughty and have to part with half of it towards alimony, what is the magic left in living anymore?