J: This snow is pathetic, isn't it. Just the sort of snow you'd expect in Tony Blair's Britain. Long, long ago, many years before you were born, in what we called 'the 1970s', you had real snow. Great, deep drifts of snow. You had to dig your car out of your driveway. You could make proper big snowballs and snowmen and write your name in pee. Aye, snow were grand when I were a lad.

me: by the way, i'm like 26 now. is that still a kid in J's World?

J: May I remind you that three years ago - when I was three years younger, ie: a mere baby of 31 - you once earnestly said to me: "Do you FEEL old?" (Not that I've been bearing a grudge about it for the whole of that time)

me: Seriously? I said that? Did I? Naaaaaaah.....

J: The funny thing is, we weren't even talking about ages, or even my age, you just suddenly said it in this thoughtful, slightly wistful way. But don't worry. It hasn't been eating away inside me like a voracious cancerous growth. For three years.

me: That's all right then. I can't remember asking that. But I do remember you calling me pedantic.

J: Hrr-um. Er, yes. Well. That was all in the past, wasn't it.