I love the older generation – I’m sure it’s a genetic trait passed down from my Grandmother who collected them like a matriarchal mother hen.  In her eighties she’d regularly drive (rarely getting out of second gear) other people to their adult learning classes, ‘So-and-so is in their nineties’, she’d say, incredulously, ‘And still independent!’

I don’t even avoid them in supermarket queues..like the other day when in an attempt to squeeze a few extra, precious seconds of the day I tried to do a lightening supermarket run just before school pick-up.  Except the magic elongating of time never happened so by the time I reached the check-out with my full basket of stuff I hadn’t realised I’d needed it was already the witching hour of 3.15 (pick-up)…and I was third in the queue….bad, very bad.  The elderly lady at the front was finishing up her purchases, bags packed, money paid which was great..except just as I thought she was all done she produced, like something from the Hobbit,  this enormous, bulging plastic bag of loose change..I literally felt a hand of horror clasp my now heaving throat. She did have the grace to turn to all of us..

‘Would you mind dreadfully if I got this changed here?’

I gulped, I never, ever, EVER make a fuss…but..it wasn’t just Charlie I was due to pick up..it was his friend as well..so even with the ghost of my Grandmother wagging her finger at me…

‘I’m so sorry’ I piped up..’I’m already late for school pick-up..and I’m sure there’s a change machine round the corner at the far end?’…

‘Oh no.  I tried there. It’s out of order.’

‘I’m so sorry..it’s my son and his friend..they’re only four..and in reception..and I’m already late….’

‘Oh well..you see..it’s my husband.  He’s just died and this is all the change from his pockets.’

The lino floor opened up and dragged me down to hell…

Laters, Kate x