Saw a couple of things within a moment of each other yesterday on Barnet High Street.
First, an old fella – I’m guessing in his late seventies – with a big, friendly, moon face stood leaning on a walking stick like his centre of gravity was somewhere in his chest. I looked at him, he looked back at me with a slightly apologetic face; while we exchanged glances, his wife was knelt on the ground in front of him tying his shoelace.
Shortly afterwards, another male pensioner, stood at the bus stop. I saw him slyly dropping a scrunched up scrap of paper onto the pavement. One doesn’t normally see older people littering, but that wasn’t the most unusual thing; he saw that I’d seen him do it and stared at me with the same confrontational stare you’d expect from a teenager.