Forgive me if I've told this here before (I can't remember whether or not I have, a peril of long-term blogging), but the first time I became aware of my mom's age, she was 32. That was in the lounge in 5 Cawston Street, Bulawayo, and I would have been either five or six years old. In any case 32 is an age that became, as it were, parental for me. Now, when I arrived in Manchester, having just ceased to be a student, and took up my job as a junior lecturer, I was 24. And 24 I have, naturally, remained - despite becoming a bit more mature and much wiser. Imagine my perplexity, therefore, in having two daughters who have both passed the age of 32. It's bad enough to have children as old as your mother. But when they're also older than you, you wonder if you're losing all your concepts..
No need to apologise, Norm: even if you had told that one before, it would be worth listening to a second time.
