When age goes out the window

"Age is just a number". That's a phrase much used by my mother, particularly when deflecting unwanted questions about her birthday. Mind you, I think I've picked up some of the attitude. I'm certainly not happy about getting older. This dissatisfaction isn't usually obvious until I'm involved in some kind of activity that requires me to be categorised. Surveys (between 18 and 65, since you ask), holidays (not eligible for Saga discounts yet), pubs (go on, ask me if I’ve got any I.D.), car insurance (too old to be a boy racer) and so on. This week I've added parenthood to my list of annoying age-related assumptions... but first I'd like to clarify something. I'm not a parent. My lovely wife was already equipped with children and cats when we met, which has excused me from all manner of toilet training. It has, however, resulted in me becoming a step-father.

And there I go. I've been placed in an age bracket. People are picturing me walking through Lewes with one of those three-wheeled buggies and a cat on my shoulder. Nope, that's not me. Besides, the story I want to tell involves a step-daughter locking herself out of her home. That puts me in a different demographic, doesn't it?

Anyway, the event was the highlight of my week, so I shall tell my tale whilst attempting to maintain an illusion of agelessness.

A few days ago the phone rang at home. I didn't rush to answer it because I don't own any children or cats, not because I wasn't feeling especially spritely. It was the aforementioned step-youngster, somewhat concerned because she was locked out and her dinner was locked in. There was a little window open at the side of the house but neither she nor her boyfriend could reach in to open a larger window. Under other circumstances they'd have been pleased with the level of security. Not that night. We assembled a crack team of housebreakers - me, wife, resident teenager - and set off down the road with the tools of our newly-adopted trade. I had a small hammer and two screwdrivers, mainly because I'd once seen someone steal a car on The Bill with similar equipment. My wife had a wire coat hanger. Her son was in charge of the ladder.

On arrival my wife dismantled the coat hanger and started fishing through the letter box. The teenager held his ladder as nonchalantly as possible.

I climbed the ladder, reached in, unlocked the large window, realised I couldn't get back out without displacing my sternum on the latch, wriggled in through the little window and exited via the front door whilst avoiding the coat hanger. Cue applause.

I’m told this is the sort of thing that parents are expected to do. But an old chap couldn't have done that, could he?

First published on vivalewes.com 1st November 2012: http://vivalewes.com/