Just been to M&S. It was full of old women, fighting over half price knickers, the kind that hold in your gut and hold up your bum, sort of like a pair of invisible hands.
It was funny, until I realised that, should God not choose to strike me down with scrofula or an errant tree doesn't choose my head to fall upon, well, one of these days, it'll be me. Me and my sister, elbowing each other at the bargain bin and holding up the queue by counting out fistful of coppers, probably with a cat under each arm, and a wheezy dog outside in a shopping trolley.
One of these days, I'll have to struggle into a pair of those pants, whilst trying to stop my teeth from shooting out my mouth, my wig from slipping down my back and my pacemaker from packing in.
And I bet I won't even be able to afford to shop in M&S.