Chapter 2: So what is it that the young'uns have, that we don't like? Mainly the fact that they can look starry-eyed at the truths we bled to discover; and that they won't listen and learn; and that they think that they have discovered love, sex, the song of the birds and the beauty of sunsets.

So, is perhaps our intolerance rooted in frustration that our experience has not been passed on? And occasionally, surely, a little jealousy too?

Because I, for one, would gladly become a whining pimply teenager again, just for the pure joy of discovering all those things again. And I would pour out my angst in diary entry songs. And not give a gnat's fart about what the old'uns think.

Though a whining wrinkly old'un is what I am, I cannot begrudge them the right to rediscover the world. That's just normal. "Life as usual", as it were...