With old age comes grey hair, dodgy knees, a sudden passion for re-runs of Murder, She Wrote, and an apparent God-given licence to speak one’s mind and be generally offensive without fear of retribution. Under the guise of passing on the benefits of their experience to family members or just casual acquaintances, old people exercise their right to swear, cuss and insult as they please. These feisty philosophers take no prisoners as they use their scalpel-like tongues to dissect modern life and the younger generations. If challenged over their outrageous comments, they’ll play the age card: you know the sort of thing – ‘I’m eighty-six, I’ve fought for my country, and if I want to call you a no-good, lowdown, useless fuckwit, then I’ll call you a no-good, lowdown, useless fuckwit, Vicar.
Condition – A little worn; Otherwise OK