**Diary Entry**
Honestly, have you ever spotted someone your own age and instantly thought, “Blimey, I can’t possibly look that ancient… surely not?” Well, let me share what happened to a mate of mine.
My name’s Eleanor. I was waiting at the bus stop in Manchester, and when I finally boarded, I caught sight of the driver’s ID badge. His full name was printed there—and it struck a chord. Suddenly, I remembered a lanky, charming lad with dark hair, the one I fancied rotten back in secondary school… nearly 35 years ago.
For a heartbeat, I wondered, “Could it really be him? The boy I used to daydream about?” But when I got a proper look at the driver, I brushed the idea aside. He was bald, greying, lined with wrinkles, and had a bit of a paunch—he seemed so much older! Still, curiosity got the better of me.
I leaned in and asked, “Pardon me, but did you happen to attend Manchester Grammar?”
“Aye, I did!” he replied, smiling.
“What year did you leave?”
“1982… why do you ask?”
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Well, we were in the same year!”
He studied me for a long moment… and then… THIS BLOKE…
BALD,
GREYING,
WRINKLED,
A TAD ROUND,
WITH WEARY EYES AND A SLOW GAIT…
LOOKED ME DEAD IN THE EYE AND SAID:
“And which subject did you teach, madam?”
Bloody hell.
Since that day, I’ve sworn off judging anyone by appearances. But I’ll confess… I spent a fair bit more time picking out my outfit the next time I left the house!
Tell me—isn’t that just a tad mortifying?
