I was sitting with a handful of locals in one of the few cafés in town when a busload of tourists poured in. Most of them in their seventies, they immediately formed two queues: one at the bar counter and the other at the toilet door. As it turned out, they were British. When they got their drinks, many of them sat down. A couple sat next to me, and we started chatting. We began with weather, but we quickly moved on to more interesting things. By and by, we broached the subject of retirement, and I told them I had just retired. The fellow asked me how old I was, and I told him I was fifty-seven. “I am seventy now,” he said, “but I retired at fifty-six.” There was a sparkle in his eyes. “Ah,” I laughed, “you beat me by a whole year!” He laughed, too, and his wife joined him. In truth, for a split second I felt jealous of him.