when old people talk

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I'm currently in Costa, drinking tea and waiting for the shops to open. I will wander through this quaint historic town and visit the swans and ducks by the river, before catching a bus into the city and meeting my friends for stuffed bellies and chitchat. In the meantime, I'm sitting here listening to the couple next to me. Well, I'm actually trying to not listen to them. Oh, now they're going. I get the impression that they're here every morning, meeting up with David. David is a bit uncouth. When I was a child I thought that elderly people were a tad boring. They ate minty peas and drank tea out of teacups, watched cricket and went to bed at nine. I didn't realise that once upon a time they were young. They had dreams and desires and laughed with their friends. But then they became adults, had families, jobs and responsibilities. And suddenly, life has passed them by, their bones have grown weary, and their dreams are now unattainable. And yet, they're still capable of behaving like cheeky children and tarty teenagers. Getting older is weird. I always thought that I had to get more boring {is that even possible?} than I already was, but age actually brings with it more adventure, fun and joy than being young. It's like a secret, one you're not told about until you reach a certain age or have breathed so many breaths.