Even though I am a considerable way off getting fitted for the patterned grey cardigan and tartan slippers, it doesn’t stop me thinking about a time when I won’t be doing very much.
When will I retire? That is anybody’s guess but when, or if, I get to stage in life where I have more hair growing out of my ears than on the top of my head, I will want to have plenty of stories to bore my grandchildren with.
When I was a snotty nosed whippersnapper with a swagger, rather than the middle aged waddle which defines me today, I couldn’t understand why old people talked so much about their past. I have long since come to realise that it is because, no matter how many times they are shown, senior citizens can never completely get the hang of the television remote control, so rather than sit in silence, pensioners will regale anybody who will listen with tales about how much better life was when avocado bathroom suites were all the rage.
Considering the fact that, even now, I need help from a three and a nine year old in order to watch reruns of Minder and the Royle Family, then it is nailed on that I will need some top notch anecdotes to see me through my autumn years.
Thankfully, this should not be a problem as there really will be plenty for me to drone on about, if and when the time comes. Not only am I lucky enough to do a job where I meet extraordinary people from all walks of life but I am not sure whether reality has ever been as barmy as it is right now.
Us Brits have always liked laughing across the Pond at the Americans but, despite the fact that the Trump years are transpiring to be even more insane than was predicted, they have nothing on Brexit Britain.
As a once committed Remainer, I have long been reconciled with the fact that, no matter how many Waitrose shoppers go on marches and daub witty anti-Brexit slogans on Egyptian cotton bedspreads, there won’t be a second referendum and we will be leaving on March 29 next year.
How we leave is still to be agreed but I am pretty sure that when we finally do, we will have been subjected to even more national ridicule, thanks to some of those who represent us in Parliament. There has been plenty to, blush about in Westminster in recent years, including sex scandals and the expenses debacle nearly a decade ago, but this current crisis takes the biscuit.
The Prime Minister, who seems to be winning sympathy from large swathes of the British public - I am not sure whether any serious political leader really wants the electorate feeling sorry for them - has refused to back down on the plan for us to leave, which has been agreed in principle with the EU.
The dramatic meetings, the resignations, the plots, the threats from men in smart suits, not to mention the letters from MPs who want to see Theresa May dance off stage for good.
People who know about such things confidently say that this is our nation’s biggest peacetime crisis, yet our MPs squabble like school children, arguing over whose turn it is to go in goal.
When I get really old, I will be able to tell of the time when Parliament really did lose its collective mind.