Approaching ageing by asking, 'Where does my value rest?'

A couple of weeks ago, a supermarket assistant ID’d me when I tried to buy a box of matches.

I thought it was hilarious. She, having discovered that I’m in my mid-30s, was mortified. But in her defence, perhaps my hat was to blame (or thank).

Since then, I’ve had new passport photos taken which highlight the silver threads in my hair. I’ve also discovered that I’m too old for the Evangelical Alliance’s survey about young people and – probably the greatest indignation of all – Amazon seems to think I’m the target audience for adverts about cleaning products.