I went to Barcelona and all you get is this lousy column

Along with receding hairlines and exercise-resistant paunches, nothing gives away the passage of time more than the words that escape our mouths. That moment in the pub when you realise you’ve been talking about mortgage rates for the past five minutes, or shared with a glassy-eyed acquaintance exactly how much pension pot money you need to afford your lavish retirement. Although over time I’ve downgraded my idea of “lavish” from two annual foreign holidays to an occasional takeaway. Now I have ...