LAUNCH CONTROL
Signs of ageing include (so I’m told) gratefully acknowledging a dismal July rain shower “will be good for the garden”, noting that footballers, policepeople and – eventually – politicians are getting younger, and being astounded at what now constitutes a school trip.
My dad would have considered a half day visit to a local paint tin lid factory as enthralling as a Solo-guided tour of the Millennium Falcon. Thanks to the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award I was able to trudge up and down Scafell Pike in dense fog powered by a hearty breakfast of tepid boil-in-the-bag beans and Kendal mint cake.
But kids these days, I tell you, they don’t know they’re born. There are 40 of them screeching around the shores of their local caravan park’s private lake. Year 5 has just enjoyed a ‘kayaking lesson’ and after, as a treat, they’ve been towed behind a speedboat on those inflatable inner tube donuts, three abreast.
They’re so irretrievably off-their-nuts on a giddy dopamine high, none of them
