NEWSPAPERS are often criticised for printing the ages of people involved in reported incidents. "Why do they do it?" is the somewhat tetchy question.

The answer, generally, is that ages help to paint a picture of the scene and, anyway, it can be interesting to the reader for any number of reasons.

This can be because the spirited pensioner who clobbered a burglar with a walking stick was 85, the young lady who took her clothes off to cool in a town centre fountain was 21 or because a particular reader knows that the prominent citizen claiming to be 39 is really 45 because she was in the same class at school.

Whether we like it or not our age helps to define us in the eyes of others.

Maybe this is why some people are coy about revealing how long they have been on the planet.

Personally, I have never understood the need for deception and am more than happy to tell people that I am 51.

Whoops. I seem to have hit the wrong key on the computer thingy.

I started down this line of thought the other day when I realised that I always read the list of birthdays published in this and other newspapers I happen to see.

You do the same, I would guess.

And I bet we all have the same kind of internal running commentary when we see that a once famous actor is now 87 ("I thought he had died years ago") or that some striking screen beauty is now 49 ("Funny, I'm sure I read that last year.") Or we relate the birthdays of those who have made more of a mark on society than we have to long-forgotten events in our own lives.

For instance, the revelation that Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens) is now 59 conjured up the scene in the late 1960s when I saw him on the public phone in the Odeon, Bolton either before or after he had been on stage as part of one of the pop package tours popular at the time.

Worst of all, though, is the way that the ages of others remind us all of advancing decrepitude.

For instance, it does not seem long since Mick Jagger, lead singer with the Rolling Stones, was a symbol of youthful revolt.

These days he is a "Sir" and 63 years old. Long live crock ' n'roll.

Finally, I close with a rant against people who throw rubbish out of car windows on motorways and other roads.

It is a dangerous thing to do, but you only have to look at the litter-strewn verges to know that this is a major problem for the authorities.

During a trip to the Fylde last week I saw fast food containers flying out of car windows and worst of all a lit cigarette end tossed casually on to the road by a driver seemingly unaware of the tinderbox state of the nearby grass.

How daft can you get?NEWSPAPERS are often criticised for printing the ages of people involved in reported incidents. "Why do they do it?" is the somewhat tetchy question.

The answer, generally, is that ages help to paint a picture of the scene and, anyway, it can be interesting to the reader for any number of reasons.

This can be because the spirited pensioner who clobbered a burglar with a walking stick was 85, the young lady who took her clothes off to cool in a town centre fountain was 21 or because a particular reader knows that the prominent citizen claiming to be 39 is really 45 because she was in the same class at school.

Whether we like it or not our age helps to define us in the eyes of others.

Maybe this is why some people are coy about revealing how long they have been on the planet.

Personally, I have never understood the need for deception and am more than happy to tell people that I am 51.

Whoops. I seem to have hit the wrong key on the computer thingy.

I started down this line of thought the other day when I realised that I always read the list of birthdays published in this and other newspapers I happen to see.

You do the same, I would guess.

And I bet we all have the same kind of internal running commentary when we see that a once famous actor is now 87 ("I thought he had died years ago") or that some striking screen beauty is now 49 ("Funny, I'm sure I read that last year.") Or we relate the birthdays of those who have made more of a mark on society than we have to long-forgotten events in our own lives.

For instance, the revelation that Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens) is now 59 conjured up the scene in the late 1960s when I saw him on the public phone in the Odeon, Bolton either before or after he had been on stage as part of one of the pop package tours popular at the time.

Worst of all, though, is the way that the ages of others remind us all of advancing decrepitude.

For instance, it does not seem long since Mick Jagger, lead singer with the Rolling Stones, was a symbol of youthful revolt.

These days he is a "Sir" and 63 years old. Long live crock ' n'roll.

Finally, I close with a rant against people who throw rubbish out of car windows on motorways and other roads.

It is a dangerous thing to do, but you only have to look at the litter-strewn verges to know that this is a major problem for the authorities.

During a trip to the Fylde last week I saw fast food containers flying out of car windows and worst of all a lit cigarette end tossed casually on to the road by a driver seemingly unaware of the tinderbox state of the nearby grass.

How daft can you get?