Strolling along towards my daughter’s place I met a small boy coming the other way. He was pushing a bicycle with an astonishingly rusty chain. Without checking the rings on his teeth I would say he was about six or seven years old.
When we drew level he stopped and spoke. ‘Smart,’ he said.
I was about to say ‘Yes I am,’ but he beat me to it. ‘Smart shirt!’
I could scarcely credit the testimony of my ears. When I was his age (if I ever was) I had no concept of smart clothing. Some would say, and who could blame them, that I still don’t.
How times change.