“This is getting silly,” muttered Albert. “Damn radio announcers are talking too fast; I just can’t follow what they say – and then have no idea what they are saying!” Just like Grandad Joe had said some sixty years ago when Albert had treated Grandad Joe to a set of large headphones for his wireless. And then there were his own grandchildren - well, granted he himself was getting deafer – they still didn’t talk slow enough, and loud enough – for him to hear, decipher and understand their words. Mind you, he pondered, they lost contact with him and their granny once they had access to those dratted electronic gadgets – pressing buttons instead of listening to traditional nursery rhymes and playing games together. Didn’t matter what he said to them, or tried to sing to them; nose down, staring into those tiny screens, they happily ignored all his attempts to converse with them. So he had more or less given up on any form of verbal contact with them. They didn’t even send him an email to thank him for Christmas or birthday presents. He told his son John that they lacked basic social skills. John agreed. His wife, though, defended their behaviour, saying that he was out-of-date and needed to be less critical. A sudden noise interrupted his thoughts. Cat noise. Someone wanted fed – immediately. Albert rose from his chair, cursed his aching knees, and shuffled to the kitchen. He explained, yet again, responding to the cat’s compaints, that he just could not move any damn faster. The cat, sitting by a half- filled bowl, glowered at him and continued to grumble. So nice to be appreciated, Albert told himself. Topped up the bowl. Bedtime I reckon. Tomorrow is another day.