I have succumbed to another age tag. I have signed up for membership of the National Trust. It's like going to garden centres and supping coffee in cafés. You come to a certain age and these pleasures which previously seemed to be the preserve of your parents are suddenly what you feel you should be doing.
I don't know when this age related imperative snooked up on me and demanded that I should start performing and enjoying what might be described as age appropriate activities, but it has occurred. It does seem strange, almost frightening and perhaps rather sad. Why am I doing these things? I do try to fight against the ravages of old Father Time and I like to think with a modicum of success, but whilst you can do something to slow down the physical decline that besets the third and fourth quartiles the little grey cells are always reminding you of the actuality of the notches on your age belt. A good dollop of rage is I think needed so that I, "do not go gentle into that good night."