_ My grandpa once told me that you only realise you’re old when you’re the oldest person you know. I guess until that point there’s always someone else you can identify as old. It was just a passing comment but it really stuck with me. I started wearing socks to bed, thinking all radio was noise, and saying: “they don’t make things like they used to,” and I was fine – there was always someone out there older. But last night it finally hit home; I’m old. My son came home after two years abroad balder than a badger – those little bastards at least have some coverage. So although I still have a full head of hair, I had to admit to myself that I was old. I couldn’t sleep a wink all night, not because I was conscious of getting on a bit, but because I realised my son was actually old. If only my father had lost his hair I would’ve received more useful advice.