Even as we arrive at Gatwick it’s clear all is not well – and my wife doesn’t feel my attitude is helping much either
Our old people’s travel cards do not open the barriers at Gatwick airport train station. My wife flashes me an I-told-you-so look, because she told me so, shortly after we left the house. Things have not started well, and we’re still a long way from Spain.
“Zones one through six only,” the guard says, in a weary, patronising sing-song. This, I realise, is what being old is like: they give you free stuff, and then snatch it away so they can treat you like a moron. The guard suggests the possibility of fining us £100 each, but his heart’s not in it. He sees idiots like us all day long.
