John Smith Woke Up This Morning… To be fair, the day was already off to a fine start. When you tu…

I woke up this morning feeling oddly triumphant. When you reach the grand old age of 118, simply opening your eyes is a bit of a victory in itself.

As always, I began the day with a routine checkup. Left eyegood as gold. Right eyecloudy, but nothing a quick rinse and a squirt of drops couldnt fix. Good as new. I bent and flexed every joint that still agreed to bend, and for the stubborn ones, a drop of oil did the trick.

I checked my ability to move forward and reverse, ran a quick diagnostic on my neckturned left, right, a fine satisfying crack, limbered up for the day. Two stomps, three claps, and thus, a new day began.

At eight on the dot, right on schedule, I got my annual birthday call from the Pensions Office.

Hello, Lydia, its me, I rasped cheerfully down the line.

Good morning, Mr. Jones, she replied, voice as dreary as a rainy Tuesday. How are you feeling today?

Cant complain, I said, grinning into the receiver.

A shame, really. Youre the reason Ive had five warnings this year already! Todays thirty years since you switched from your private pension to the state one.

Oh, sorry about that. Is it true were getting a rise this month?

Yes… a rise, she answered, her tone dropping like a leaky roof. You arent, by chance, working on the side, are you? she asked, with a hopeful note.

No, sadly, Ive got more than enough money to last me.

Pity… All the best she trailed off and hung up.

At nine, it was breakfast with my great-great-grandson. He didnt live with me, but the lad always had a key. First thing, hed measure everythingkitchen, bathroom, you name it. Then hed sit, calculating material costs and doodling possible furniture. Today, he forgot his tape measure.

Grab the old one from the dresser, I suggested. Your granddadsstill going strong, I chuckled, pouring the tea. He sighed deeply and tucked into my famous eggs.

By ten, I was out by the front steps, enjoying a smoke.

Oy, Johnny, still having a fag, are you? You know thatll kill you The neighbour stopped short, looking at me, a relic whod started smoking at an age most drop from what kills you.

Were off to London today.

What for?

Bit of sightseeing. Gonna try the tube, see Buckingham Palace, catch the Changing of the Guard before they all retire.

Is that worth seeing?

Have you seen it yourself?

Yeah, once. The Queen came to our village.

In a coffin?!

No, in a carriage.

Alright, how old are you really?

Eighteen, mate, I muttered, puffing on my cigarette.

Get out of town.

No, really. I stayed for an extra term.

Well, happy coming of age, then!

Cheers, I said, trundling inside.

At eleven, the director of my mobile company rang, nearly in tears, begging me to switch tariffs. The plan I was on had been kept alive for my benefit alone; in modern pounds, it was so outdated they were almost paying me just to keep it.

By five, I was at the supermarket. On my birthday, you get a discount equal to your age, so I picked up a cake, a kilo of bananas, and a widescreen telly. There was enough change for a cab and some removal men.

Seven oclock, the mortuary rang. Asked me politely to finally come and collect my insurance policyand the pair of slippers Id ordered just in case.

At eight, the guests arrived. I set the table, switched on my new TV, poured the wine. Toasts were sparse; no one quite knew what wishes to offer at my age. So everyone just took turns silently standing up.

At ten, the police knocked on the door, requesting I keep the noise down; after all, there were elderly neighbours next door. I answered and could see them struggling to process the irony.

By midnight, most guests had departedsome to their homes, some to the hospital. Smiling to myself, I slipped off my ring and tucked it under the pillowa magical golden band my wife had left me, with tiny letters engraved: Live for both of us.

And I have, every single day. Today reminded me that life is best lived with a bit of humour, a bit of kindness, and always, with an eye for those small, magical details that keep us going.