Granny Territory

Have you ever taken the 99A before 10am? I have. It is astounding. Literally, the age gap between me and the rest of the passengers is at least 60 years. I am not exaggerating, and I bet anyone else who has been on that bus that early can corroborate.

Some time ago, Tess noted, "Do you realise how little we see middle-aged people, or children? We basically spend all our time here amongst our generation...or really old people". And it is SO TRUE. Seriously, this past weekend in particular it just dawned on me how many older people live here; this, as I was trying to speed my way behind two very lovely, very charming, very slow, and very old ladies. The weekends, in fact, are Granny territory here. The pink clouds of impossibly sweet perfumes invade the alleys; the offers at Tesco are seized ruthlessly by avid pensioners, gossip is spilled amongst tea cups in the cafes, disapproving looks are cast in the direction of the student population (often hungover and in the way of the grocery-laden Granny-trollies).

Rachel once told me that she can't wait for the day she becomes a Scottish gran; I don't blame her, actually. These women have a blast. They are shameless, they are witty, and they sure as hell have earned their wise way into being the opinionated, ironic and funny individuals that they are. I think they are probably the most real of St Andreans, an everyday reminder that this is where life is heading towards, but that even then we will be making the most of it, one glass of brandy and a friendly chat on the local bus at a time. Where I come from, ageing is not so positive; becoming older means losing your independence, being confined to the living-room and the visits of grandchildren if one is lucky enough. But here, even if they can hardly walk, the Grannies are self-sufficient, they do their shopping and their socialising, and they're happy.

If I could, I would totally aspire to being a Scottish Granny as well.