There was a magazine in a clinic that caught my eye recently. There was a slogan writ large, 'Get Older, Go Faster!' accompanied by a glossy photo of a silver haired, lycra clad chap sporting a rictus smile. He was on a lightweight, vastly expensive bicycle that must have cost him a good proportion of his pension. He was also half way up a mountain track.
While I waited to be seen, I had plenty of time to contemplate the cause of the grin. Were his lycra shorts too tight? - they would have been a courageous choice on a man half his age.
No, I decided that his expression was down to the immense effort of attempting to pedal back into his twenties.
It made me think about how we know when we are old.
Is it when you start finding Nicholas Parsons funny?
Is it when the NHS have a more intimate knowledge of you than your lover?
I saw another magazine today, an out of date photo of Wills and Kate superimposed on a tropical beach backdrop to look like a honeymoon exclusive. One day they will be on the throne.
That's when I will be old.
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