Hiding from the rain, writing a list and marshalling my thoughts, I overheard a conversation at the next table which made me feel sad.
At what age do we stop describing one another in perjorative terms as 'immature'. As if maturity is a quality to strive for rather than a state of mind thrust upon us by jobs, responsibilities, children and so forth.
I would love to be immature this morning, but I can't even picture what it would look like. I briefly dallied with the idea of a daytime cinema trip, but even that struck me as the most middle aged of rebellions.