nobody wants to be ordinary any more, 

especially not pensioners like nan and grandad,

they're dead cool like us now.

none of nan's mates have crap phones, no-name

trainers, tiny teles or carpet in the lounge, and

wouldn't be seen dead with grey hair. Grandad's

in his element, he calls them his 'dolly birds'.

and they're out in town, day and night, designer gear 

and perfumes, hair all shaped and streaked, loud like 

teenage attention junkies, or on Easyjet and Ryanair flights 

for hen weekends in Barcelona or Berlin. Anywhere to 

get trolleyed, really. They might go to Glastonbury this year.

grandad's dead cool, when he's not chillaxing he's downloading 

dance floor bangers from Spotify, he says Radio 2's gone dead 

boring and Radio 1's too hardcore. And his body's really buff 

since he joined the gym. A checkout lady in Tesco told him 

he's dead fit and his tattoos were totally amazzin.

he always wears vests now.

and they wouldn't thank you for a nescafé, they only like 

skinny-mocha-choca-chinos, lattes or flat whites, 

and don't even think of offering them a rich tea biscuit, 

they only eat double choc chip cookies.

when they eat out they're mad for paninis, chorizo and tapas, 

with loads of Prosecco, and at home they just order take-aways;

pizzas, Chinese or Indian, so there's no washing-up, 'cos they

need to see all the soaps in the week, and strictly and x-factor at 

the weekend before they go out clubbing. As nan says,

"there's no time to cook these days, we're too busy largin' it"