Ooh, I forgot:
Yesterday when we were buying cider at Systembolaget I was asked for id. It’s been so long that the lady had to ask three times before I understood what she was after. ID? You mean I look like I’m not yet 20?
Ok, so when Linda and I, Friday evening, discussed what age I might possibly claim to be come thursday we agreed that 14 was probably as far as I should stretch. However, I didn’t actually think that it was visible as such.
Crikey. The last time someone asked me for id was at TGI Fridays in Swindon a couple of years ago, and at that point I assumed it was because I was in the company of Bethan, who they refused to believe was over 21 as she’d left her id at the hotel (Lloyd: “I’m her manager. She’s got a degree. She has to be more than 21.”), and that they just figured it was easier asking us both than differentiating.
So. That gave us something to laugh about yesterday.
Voice in my head: Vonda Shepard – I Only want to be with You