My Mum is 89 Years Old. Two Years Ago She Moved in With Me—Now Every Morning I Hear Her Wake Up Around 7:30, Quietly Chat With Her Elderly Cat and Feed Her, Then Make Breakfast and Sit on the Sunny Patio with Her Coffee Until She’s Fully Awake. Afterward, She Grabs the Mop and Goes Around the Entire House (About 2,500 Square Feet)—She Calls It Her Daily Workout. If She’s in the Mood, She Cooks Something, Tidies Up the Kitchen, or Does Her Regular Exercises. In the Afternoon, She Dives Into Her Ever-Changing “Beauty Ritual,” Sometimes Sorting Through Her Massive Wardrobe—So Expensive It’s Practically a Museum Collection. Some Clothes She Gives to Me, Others to Friends, and Some She Even Sells—Just Like a True Businesswoman. I Often Tell Her, “Mum, If You’d Invested All That Money, You’d Be Living in Luxury!” She Laughs: “I Love My Clothes. Besides, One Day This Will All Be Yours. Your Sister, Bless Her, Has No Taste At All.” For Distraction, We Walk Three Kilometres Around the Lake Nearly Five Times a Week. Once a Month, She Has a “Girls’ Night” With Her Friends, Reads Constantly, and Is Always Digging Through My Bookshelves. Every Day She Chats on the Phone With Her Sister, age 91, Who Lives in Cornwall and Visits Twice a Year. (By the Way, My Aunt Still Works as an Accountant for a Private Client.) Next to Her Cat, Her Greatest Joy Is the Tablet I Got Her Last Christmas—She Reads About Her Favourite Writers and Composers, Keeps Up With the News, Watches Ballet, Opera, and a Ton More. Around Midnight I Often Hear Her Say, “I Really Should Go to Sleep, But YouTube Just Started Pavarotti on Its Own.” She and Her Sister Have Truly Won the Genetic Lottery. Still, My Mum Complains, “I Look Awful!” I Try to Cheer Her Up: “Mum, At Your Age, Most People Would Already Be on the Other Side.”

My mother is 89 years old. Two years ago, she moved in with me here in Oxford. Every morning I hear her getting up around 7:30. Then she starts having a quiet chat with her elderly cat, Oliver, and gives him his breakfast. Afterwards, she makes herself some toast and tea, and settles onto the sunny patio with her cup, letting herself wake up fully.

Next, she grabs the mop and goes through the whole house (its about 240 square metres) she says this is her daily exercise routine. If shes in the mood, shell do a bit of cooking, tidy up the kitchen, or go through her usual set of stretches.

In the afternoon, its time for her beauty ritual, which is always evolving. Sometimes shell rummage through her enormous wardrobe its quite impressive, almost museum-worthy. Some outfits she passes onto me, others to someone else, and she even sells a few like a true businesswoman. I often joke with her:

Mum, if you’d just invested all that money, youd be living in luxury now!

She laughs and replies:

I like my clothes. Besides, one day itll all be yours. Your sister, poor thing, doesnt have a shred of taste.

To get some fresh air, we walk about three kilometres around the lake roughly five times a week. Once a month, she has a girls night with her friends. She reads a lot and is always browsing through my bookshelves. Every day she rings her sister, Agnes, whos 91 and lives in London she visits us twice a year. (By the way, my aunt still works as an accountant for a private client.)

Apart from her cat, her biggest joy is the tablet I got her for Christmas. She reads everything she can find about her favourite authors and composers, listens to the news, watches ballet, the opera, and plenty more. Around midnight, Ill often hear her mutter:

I really should get some sleep, but YouTube has just started playing Pavarotti for me.

She and her sister truly hit the jackpot in the genetic lottery, but mum still complains:

I look dreadful! she says.

I always try to cheer her up:

Mum, at your age, most people would already be in the next world.