Coming of Age

YOUTHFULL good looks will only get you so far in life, believe me I know. Well, perhaps less of the "good", but I expect I do face discrimination for my looksmore often than I rightfully should.I get ID'd all of the time – for alcohol.

A non-exhaustive survey has found that it's most usually in supermarkets. I've got a handful of different ways that I try to avoid it. Most of the time I mind my own business and pray. Sometimes I feign tiredness, looking like an exhausted office-worker in want of a quiet night in. Other times I'll offer a scrap of conversation, and ask the shop assistant how they are doing. It doesn't always work.

My latest worst-case-senario was in a mini-Tesco near Liverpool Street Station on a Sunday afternoon, I was at the pointless invention that is the self-service till, which broke down half-way through bleating "approval needed". A woman came to assist but then asked if I had any ID when she saw the giant bottle of Grey Goose vodka in my grip. "Oh no please don't ID me today" I pleaded, "It's for a present". I got out my press card and various other miscellany to prove my case. None of it passed. I left seething and devoid of a gift for my friend.I couldn't understand it then and I still cannot fathom it now.

Some shop assistants clearly don't have any sense of culture. My basket contained a loaf of the store's "finest" bread, The Observer, an over-priced organic rocket and watercress salad and one of the top-of-the-range vodkas you can buy. Hardly a cocktail for causing anti-social behaviour in a dodgy park corner.

Most people close to me know that I absolutely loathe supermarkets, but the red wine selection (my most frequent beverage of choice) is oft available in ample supply with a fair selection to choose from. And of course the superstores are open late, so it looks like I'm resigned.Enter: ID cards. Shrouded in controversy of course. But I realise I may have to apply for one of some description if my life is to continue with a certain semblance of dignity.