Grey

Today I went into Ashford. Nothing remarkable there except that I thought I'd take the bus. It was a another beautiful day so after last week's precedent, I thought I'd enjoy some beer another leisurely lunch without worrying about driving home. Besides, it had been almost 29 years since I last travelled into town using public transport. I was due. I went to the library, the post office and the pub. I read a local history book and watched cricket on the telly with my "Whitby Seafood Platter" and pints of IPA. Very civilised.

The lunch at least made up for the incident on the bus on the way in. When it arrived it was full; not surprising as it had already done the best part of 20 miles before it reached my stop. As I got on, a young girl of about 15 got up and offered me her seat. The combined sound of my ego and self-esteem crashing to the floor would have been deafening were it not for the laughter my polite decline evoked. At 46, I was probably the second youngest on the bus and almost certainly the only one who had paid the full fare. And I suppose, like everyone else on the bus I could probably also have passed for one of her grandparents.

Like all old people, tomorrow I am going have a whinge. The effwits at the Royal Mail took the gloss off my day even more than being mistaken for Methuselah.