Today, as part of a trivial online conversation about music, I realised that it is 25 years since I was at university and spent part of my student grant on bargain vinyl from Woolworth’s on Preston Road, Brighton because they were ceasing to stock actual records.
Woolworths is gone, now, too.
And the person I was talking to hadn’t been born then.
My consultant (younger than I, with a confident, enthusiastic air about her) remarked yesterday that I was “quite young”.
I have started attending a local group for people “of working age” with Parkinson’s. Admittedly, I haven’t met everybody – many seem to have been going on holiday – but in the two meetings I have been to, I was definitely the youngest there.
It is a very, very small thing. But Parkinson’s, curiously, sometimes makes me feel young.