He looked back at me as though I had gone gaga. I was about to turn 59. My 60th was a year away. I hadn't given it a thought. I was about to turn 60, he claimed, on September 13 this year, which was a little over a month away. It is true that I have never been good at maths, or dates. But I do know how old I am. No, I don't. I am about to turn 60. How disappointing. I want to be turning 65 so that I can get on the pension. I want one of Winston Peters' SuperGold cards, which might entitle me to ride the toy railway round and round Masterton's Henley Lake Park free of charge. Until eternity, or death. Whichever comes first.
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