Ivan Johnson Wakes Up to His 118th Birthday: A Day of Routine MOTs, Pension Fund Calls, Breakfast wi…

John Wainwright woke up

All things considered, the day was off to a decent start already. When you turn 118 years old, simply waking up is an achievement in itself.

First order of business was a bit of a personal MOT: he prised open his left eye still working, then the right a bit foggy though. Quick rinse, a few eye drops good as new. Bent everything that would bend, oiled the bits that wouldnt. Checked forwards and backwards, gave his neck a rotational test.

Satisfied that everything moved, clicked, or creaked as expected, he stamped his feet twice, clapped his hands three times, and started his new day.

At eight oclock sharp, as per routine, he got a call from the Pension Office.

Hello, Margaret, wheezed the birthday boy happily into the phone.

And good morning to you, John Wainwright, replied Margaret with a heavy sigh, hows your health today?

Cant complain, the old man beamed into the receiver.

What a pity, John Wainwright, Ive already had five written warnings this year because of you! Today marks thirty years since you stopped getting your workplace pension and switched to the government one!

Well, my apologies. I heard there was a rise this month?

Yes, yes, an increase her voice trailed into something between a mournful groan and Pierrot at the panto, Youre not, by any chance, doing some work on the side? she tried her luck.

No, sorry, Ive got more than enough to get by.

Shame All the best She never finished and hung up.

At nine oclock, John sat down to breakfast with his great-great-grandson, who didnt live with him but always let himself in with his own key. Once inside, the young mans first task was usually to measure something sometimes the kitchen, sometimes the bathroom. Then hed sit, working out materials and labour costs, sketching out furniture ideas. This morning, hed shown up without his tape measure left it behind somewhere.

Fetch the one off the sideboard, John suggested, it was your granddads, still works fine, he chuckled sadly, pouring tea into the pot.

The lad just sighed and sat to eat his famous great-great-granddads scrambled eggs.

At ten, John popped out for a smoke by the front door.

Oi, Johnny, at it again! called a neighbour. You know smoking causes He broke off, eyeing the sprightly centenarian, whod been puffing away since the age when most people die of the things smoking causes.

Were off up to London today, said the neighbour.

What for?

Gonna have a ride on the Underground, pop up to Trafalgar Square, and see the Queens guards before they change shift.

Whats to see? A guards a guard.

Have you ever actually seen them then?

Yeah, one came to our village once.

In a coffin?!

No, in a first-class carriage.

How old are you anyway?

Eighteen this morning, the old man replied, chewing his filter tip.

Oh get lost.

Its true. I had to repeat a year.

Well, happy coming of age then!

Cheers, said John, heading back inside.

By eleven, the head of BT himself rang in tears to beg John to change his ancient phone tariff. The one John was on now existed only for him, and by todays rates, actually paid him a little extra every month.

At five, John made his way to the shops. The big supermarket did birthday discounts the same number as your age. He picked up a cake, a kilo of bananas, and a widescreen telly. With the change, he called a cab and a couple of lads to help carry it all.

At seven, there was a call from the undertaker, asking him yet again to finally pick up his insurance documents and a pair of slippers.

At eight, the guests started arriving. John set the table, switched on his new TV, poured out the wine. The toasts were brief and awkward; his guests didnt quite know what to wish him anymore, so just stood up and nodded in turn.

By ten, the police knocked, politely asking them to keep the noise down as the elderly couple next door wanted some peace. The birthday boy answered the door himself, sending the officers into a momentary tailspin at the sight of him.

John turned in just before midnight, once most guests had wandered off to their own homes or, quite possibly, hospital beds. Smiling into the darkness, he slipped off a magical gold ring and tucked it under his pillow. Inscribed on it in tiny letters was a message, commissioned by his wife before she passed away: Live for the both of us.

Thats just what he did.