Okay, so some people have to know my age. Car and holiday insurance, to name two. But now it seems I have a whole host of Big Brothers, who know everything about me (and furthermore, what they think is good for me).
When I reached a certain age, I was offered funeral plans, extra life insurance, and frumpy crimplene clothes. Great. The latest is an invitation to attend the opening of a 'Retirement Village'. Yes. A lovely new Retirement Village, into which I can totter when I can no longer manage these stairs (I've already been offered the stair lift). Worse still, they want me to RSVP if I CAN'T come! Dream on, Retirement Village. I'm not spending the price of a stamp on telling you I can't come to something I'm not interested in.
We old people know that a stamp now costs 12 shillings in old money. So there.