In recent years I have developed a habit which I can't seem to break. Every Friday I catch a bus to a nearby town and have chicken and chips for lunch in one of the town's chippies. There are certain 'ritual' aspects to this habit: I must leave my house at 11:00 am and walk the mile or so to my local bus station. I then wait 10 minutes or so for the bus (I could time it better but the wait appears to be part of the ritual). When the bus arrives I go upstairs and sit in a seat on the left hand side about 1/3 of the way from the front. The journey takes about 1/2 an hour and the districts the bus passes through are full of memories and reminders of times past, absent friends etc. I get off the bus at the town's shopping precinct and I make my way to W.H. Smiths and buy an 'Independent' newspaper (what am I going to do when the 'Independent' goes digital in a couple of weeks time??!!). I then turn off the main street, into the old part of the town, and soon arrive at my favourite chippy. I take my usual seat in the chippy's quaint little dining room and, in due course, a member of staff brings me my usual Friday repast. Once I've eaten my lunch, I visit the town's market and then make my way to Currys/PC World for a browse. Then I walk back to the town's bus station in order to catch the bus home. Every week the bus stops just short of the bus stop and we passengers have to wait while the old driver hands over to a new driver - all part of the oddly comforting ritual. That night I, and a few mates, go to the pub for a pint. I wonder if this ritual is related, in any way, to getting old? I am old because I receive a pension and am the proud owner of, what I call, my "old git licence" which means the journey, there and back, costs me nothing.