Was musing about the fact that it only takes one person to ruin an otherwise quite pleasant day. Once a month, I help out at an art workshop. Nothing cerebral. Just setting up tables and chairs, making tea and coffee, serving everyone a simple lunch and masses and masses and masses of washing up. I’m not sure why I do it as it means being on my size eights all day and when I get home afterwards I’m so exhausted I need to lie down. I think it’s because the people who attend are so lovely. They have an average age of about 74 and probably that amount of health complaints each too. But they are so charming, polite and grateful. They invariably have something pleasant to say, always ask how I am and remember my son’s name and ask after him too. Even if they walk with a stick, or have a bad hip/back/knee they stagger back to hand me their empty teacups bless them. But today, a new woman – she’s probably about fifty – came along: she marched up to the kitchen with a slightly odorous black poodle tucked under her arm and said “Coffee please”. What’s wrong with that I hear you ask. Well, it was, quite simply, her supercilious tone of voice. Of course I should have risen above it. Ignored her arrogant tone. But it cut me to the quick. I felt hurt. Pathetic I know. But it made me realise how well mannered and wonderful very much older people can be. If you actually bother engaging them in conversation, they often have a brilliant sense of humour. It makes me sad that we are more likely to ignore them as a little bit of a nuisance. They might be ancient, infirm and smell of Parma Violets, but I love our artistic oldies.