Help the Aged.


As I walked home this afternoon, I passed a little girl and her dad heading the other way. When they were behind me, I heard the the girl say ‘That man's got a poppy’. It was then that I realised I’ve reached the stage of my life when I'm seen unquestionably as an adult.

When did that happen? It seems like only yesterday that I was just old enough to apply for my provisional driving licence. I’m now over twice that age. I’m hardly decrepit, I know, but it’s a sobering thought. I’m still not allowed behind the wheel without supervision though; one thing I've purposely kept in common with my sixteen-year-old self.

The frustrating thing about life is its linearity. Things only go one way. This is something it shares with the majority of roads in St. Albans. Equally annoying.

It like spotting crow’s feet starting to forming around your eyes or your subtly changing hairline; both of which I’ve done recently. You either embrace this, or approach mirrors with a similar attitude to a cross between Miss Havisham and Count Dracula. You could coat them in Vaseline, I suppose, but that would be costly and unappealing.

I'm not really worried by what the girl said. Children have a notoriously skewed view of age. I used to teach drama to a class of five to six year-olds. One day, one of them asked me how old I was.
‘I’m twenty seven,’ I said.
The little boy looked at me, eyes wide open with reverence. ‘That’s even older than my mum’.

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