One important thing we have to do on return from holiday is to visit the supermarket to stock up on essentials - Sugar Puffs, Marmite, etc.
As I queued at the check-out, I realised that he man in front of me had already paid, but was still standing there laughing and talking with the check-out girl. What's going on? I started to champ at the bit. The girl was being so friendly, I felt sure she was just chatting with her grandfather or neighbour. Come on woman, there are real customers in the queue here!
At last it was my turn. 'Was that someone you knew?' I asked pointedly. 'Yes, he comes in every week to buy flowers for his two girlfriends.' Not the sort of reply I expected.
'I thought I'd better talk to him,' she continued. 'It's his birthday.' 'So, how old is he?' I asked. 'He's 101 today.'
I looked at him walking out of the store, unaided, standing erect, not to mention clean-shaven and smartly dressed. And, especially after my earlier somewhat uncharitable thoughts, I thought I'd better say something to him too. But I couldn't catch up with him. I last saw him in the distance striding out of the car park, no doubt on his way to see a girlfriend. Or both of them . . .
Is this what I have to look forward to in the next half century? Is his joie de vivre the secret to a long, healthy life? Where can I get another girlfriend?