I have always looked young for my age. When I was twenty-three, bar staff considered that I might still be young enough to attend school. In those days, almost all English head teachers had canes, and would have used them on delinquent pupils who tried to buy alcohol from bar staff. I still look young for my age but, alas, could no longer pass for a schoolchild. Age regression, for me now, would mean being thrust from retirement back to commuting on the Central Line. That is a far more uncomfortable prospect than being consigned to St Elphin's School or the Albright Academy. As Auntie Carol says in Becoming Tracy: "You may be paddled occasionally, but there are a lot worse things than that."