"You want blowjob?": Ageing (dis)gracefully

LAST YEAR I had an appointment at my local hospital with the orthopaedic consultant to have a look at my wonky knee. So there I was at the bus stop at the end of the road where I live in South London, leaning on my stick, having accessorised myself from head to toe in suitably oldster gear — cloth cap, tweed jacket, comfy earth-toned trousers with turn-ups, wide-fitting brown brogues and a jumper ventilated by moth holes. I'm just over the half-century hump and have never been confused with a young Mick Jagger.