We could start a branch of the Grumpy Old People Club.

Personally I can't wait until I'm old enough to have a bath-chair, pushed by a nurse in a white starched uniform, whilst I point my antique brass ear-trumpet at some young whippersnapper shouting "Speak up boy, can't hear what you're saying. STOP MUMBLING."
I have to get a monocle like Patrick Moore's. And I shall have to cultivate a twitch. And wave my cane in impotent rage.
Bah, humbug.