I’m on the number 3 and this auld wummin leans over me from the high seat behind me and says “Scuse me son, whit’s yer aftershave?”, and I tell her, and she says “Much d’it cost?”, and I tell her, and she says “Ooft. It’s no bad though, ye smell guid”, and I say thanks, and she says “If ah wis a bit younger and didnae hae osteoporosis and a gammy hip ah’d jump yer bones fur ye.”
And that’s probably the closest thing to a compliment I’ll be getting this Christmas.