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2003-07-01 - 5:53 p.m.

I�m old fashioned and civilised enough not to mind giving up my seat on the bus to the needy. The chronically aged, for example (after all, it could be their last ever shopping trip) or the overly-babied, somehow manoeuvring seventeen little cracker spawn around a moving vehicle whilst managing to keep a grip on that bucket of fried chicken. Dexterity like that should be rewarded, after all. I�ll employ discretion when there�s the involvement of the apparently pregnant � I know you need to take the weight off your foetus, but with outright corpulence raging its way through the population, you have to be careful � the wrong call can so often cause offence, though when I reach four hundred pounds, I�ll more than happily overlook the gender/maternity error and settle down for the ride. What I don�t do, though, is give up my seat for sleazy men who are about FORTY THREE, and think that just because they have a few grey hairs and an increased chance of prostate cancer I�m gonna stand up and let them luxuriate in the finest seating London Transport has to offer. I don�t care how expectantly you�re looking at me, Chester, or for how long you can disapprovingly sigh - anyone under my Dad�s age ain�t prising me out of a seat, the criminaly insane and incontinent (a surprisingly high proportion of the north London bus passenger demographic) notwithstanding.

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