Tuesday, 7 January 2014

The Senior Railcards and the diving board ...



I sometimes tell Richard that he is becoming a loveable curmudgeon - he relishes his role as a wary gaffer - he'll sip a taster in The Hole in the Wall with narrowed eyes - he'll take to task the manager of the Albert Road Tesco for his poor stock control -  

I wonder if I, too, am assuming the mantle of a silvery haired gaffer - I sigh over newspapers, I linger over carrot cake - I'm one of the crocks in the gym - I am familiar with the word concession - 

Recently I acquired a senior railcard - Don didn't ask me for proof of age - I'll trust you he said -

I noticed that there was a small library in the ticket hall - you could skim through a foxed Wilbur Smith whilst you waited for your train -

On our way to see Sophie, we had to show our senior railcards to the crisp guard - Richard was with us - our railcards were fanned out on the table between the seats - 

I remembered my dad saying that getting older was like going up the steps of a high diving board, by the side of a swimming pool - you watch other chaps going up the steps - and then it's your turn to jump off - 




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