If you are keeping up you will know that yesterday was shopping in York. That’s shopping for our upcoming trip to Barcelona to see Alex, Dave and Grandkids. That’s shopping because Christine ‘has nothing to wear’ again, the same as before each of our last numerous trips abroad. That’s shopping on a Thursday with lots of other pensioners and there's the rub.




We decide on the park-and-ride because it’s York Races and the town car parks are bound to be full. As we walk across to the bus stand it seems that every pensioner in the area also had that thought and we join the end of the queue of Togs waiting patiently for the bus. And where is the bus? Parked 20 yards away from the stop with the doors closed while the driver sits on the fence having a cigarette. What’s that all about, why can’t we get on the bus? Some of the guys in front of us don’t seem like they’ll make a long wait.


Eventually the bus pulls up to the stop and the people start getting on, now we have stood in this queue for least five minutes and there are posters all over saying the cost is £2 return so why can’t people have their money ready? Why all the fumbling around to find the handbag then the purse and then counting out the money, everyone knows they have to pay so have the fare ready. It’s only a six minute ride into York town centre and it takes us 10 minutes to get everyone on the bus.


What are we doing here Christine and I are in the wrong place, I am not like this and Christine obviously isn’t being only 51 and getting her pension only due to a clerical error on her birth certificate, she says!


The conversation on the bus is riveting with two pink rinses who have only met ten minutes ago in the queue discussing details of their latest operations with each other and everyone else on the bus. I am beginning to feel very queasy, I don’t do operations.


Why are we here? I don’t feel old enough to be on this bus.




We arrive and the first stop is the M&S coffee shop for a coffee and a bacon roll, life should now get better but there in front of us in the queue is some of the Togs off the bus. How did they get in front, Linford Christie would have struggled to beat me to a bacon sandwich but there they are ordering their coffees and sharing a scone. Maybe they work as a team, one keeps you talking about hospitals and operations while the others get to the front of the queue. These people must be regulars on the park-and-ride, they must do this every week.


We don’t belong here! We are not experienced enough.


It’s soon lunch time and the fish and chips out of the paper whilst sitting in one the picturesque squares is soon rejected by Christine in favour of a very nice Italian restaurant. Christine sits studying her pink Black Book, which is now a way of life, to see how we getting on and after scrutinising many receipts announces that we have saved £47 pounds. My credit card is still red hot from going in and out of shop tills and I have repetitive strain of my index finger from entering my pin number but we have saved £47 pounds. I think about making the point about saving money or spending less but instead just order another glass of wine and listen to the plans for the afternoon. Christine is shopping, no need to spoil her fun.


So later on following afternoon tea and a shared iced finger we head back for the bus.
All that is needed to get on the bus is to show the driver your return ticket from this morning, how can that be so hard? Again nobody looks for the ticket before reaching the driver’s tray only now it’s even harder with numerous carriers and shopping bags to manage and still the next in the queue doesn’t start looking for their ticket until asked for it.


Why are we here? Next time I am parking in a town centre car park and going on a week end when all the pensioners are at home keeping out of the way.


But apart from the park-and-ride and the pressure exerted on the credit cards it’s not been a bad day. Nice lunch, couple of glasses of wine and some new bits and pieces for me along with everything Christine needs to keep her going until the next time we go to Barcelona. Only the packing to go now and then we are off. Can’t wait!