When I get older, I’ve decided I’m to go to go a little mad, not quite stark staring bonkers or anything but peculiar, eccentric and strange. I’ll develop weird obsessions and phobias, hoard bin bags or dig tunnels in the cellar. I’ll mutter in high streets and exude a malodorous smell.
I’ll buy a walking stick with a metal end and shake it at life. Kids will run from my shadow and I’ll always say the wrong thing in shops – loudly – and be blunt to the point of rudeness and perhaps cultivate a line in casual racist remarks .
I’ll force young mothers to give up seats on buses and make damn sure I get the sympathy vote. I’ll milk state benefits and cause doctors to shake their heads, as I stay just on the right side of certifiable.
I think it’s the only thing that will keep me sane.
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