FROM childhood to adulthood, into middle-age, and old age (if you’re lucky), defining moments come thick and fast.
The nervous excitement of wearing a shiny new uniform for that first day at school is a hazy memory.
At 17, I could learn to drive. A year later, I was entrusted with the right to vote.
By my mid-thirties, I was making a grown-up will, having somehow become a father-of-four.
Fast forward to the grand old age of 50, and I remember being a little affronted at being told I suddenly qualified for “veteran” tennis matches against other clubs in the local league.
Now, as a 63-year-old grandad, my latest age-defining moment has come – on a bus journey during a winter break, with my wife, in Malta.
It was standing room only as we caught the single-decker back to our hotel after visiting Malta’s beautiful capital of Valletta.
Twenty minutes into the journey, a young woman – probably in her twenties – stood up and beckoned me over with a sympathetic smile. “My God, she’s offering me her seat,” I realised, taken aback.
It was the first time this had happened to me on public transport and, though I appreciated the kindness behind the offer, the significance of the moment hit me hard.
Did I look so old and frail that this compassionate soul was moved to sacrifice her own comfort?
Had she noticed me wincing at the jolts of pain from my arthritic knee every time we went over a bump? Was she worried I may not have the strength to cling on to the overhead support strap as we went round a bend?
Admittedly, I was wearing my Genesis - Farewell Tour t-shirt, so it perhaps it could have been that.
All of these thoughts flashed through my mind before I shook my head and politely but firmly declined.
I’m not normally one for bravado but I confess that between the next few stops, I daringly let go off the support strap, just to demonstrate that my leg muscles retain a reasonable level of shock-absorbency.
Like a slalom skier who’s past his prime but still capable of negotiating a few gates on the downhill slope.
Then, as we reached the hotel, I made a point of jumping off the bus before breaking into a jaunty little 10-yard trot.
Ok, my arthritis kept me awake more than usual that night, but no-one needs to know.
I look forward to my state pension in a few years, and a telegram from The King when the time comes. But, for now, I’m standing up for my right to be in denial.
