When I was a lad, our house was like a scene from a sitcom, always bursting at the seams with grown-ups.
Our small living room was a veritable circus of friends, neighbors, strange relatives and relative strangers.
You name it: the rent man, the Man From The Pru and even the bailiffs made appearances, all larger than life and overflowing with bonhomie.
Or, in the case of Aunty Glad, overflowing with Dubonnet!
I’d often find myself wedged under the dining table, no easy feat when you’re five feet tall at 12, eavesdropping on the fascinating conversations buzzing around me.
Politics, religion, nuclear war and the great scone debate (jam or cream first? It’s a serious matter!) were all fair game.
No topic was too controversial for my young ears.
Of course, with everyone talking over each other, I sometimes misheard things.
Like the time I thought a neighbour said, “Neither a borrower or a Brenda Lee.”
I was convinced she was criticising the ’60s pop star we only hear on the radio in December, belting out “Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree”.
Then there was Uncle Hugo, who claimed to have explored many “previously unexplored regions” of the world, regions that were no longer unexplored because he’d gone and spoiled them.
I distinctly heard him say, “There are flies, damn flies and stick insects,” while recounting his adventures along the perilous upper reaches of the River Tawe.
In reality, he’d said, “There are lies, damn lies and statistics”.
Thinking of my late uncle (he’s not dead, just always late) reminds me that by 2050, the number of people aged over 60 will top two billion.
Can you imagine the queue at the Post Office on pension day?
And with so many old folks around, my chances of a full house at Bingo are looking grim!
Ah, the good old days! I wonder if Aunty Glad drank all the Dubonnet?