I had a real Mark Corrigan (sorry about the ads) experience last night.
As I walked through the Monkmoor estate in Shreswbury, wearing my warm old-man's clothes and dragging my fencing bag behind me, I met a group of kids, who must have ranged from 8 to 12 years old. 'Oh no', I thought to myself. 'I've seen this episode. They ask menacing questions then call me a paedo and kick me up the bottom. Then I lock myself indoors and resign myself to a lifetime of bitter hate and fear'.
Sure enough, they gathered round me shouting something. I remove my earphones (Philip Glass's Heroes symphony). They're not calling me a paedo or laughing at my garb. They're asking if they can throw snowballs at me. I'm so stunned that I find I can only reward their good manners by acquiescing. 'Sure', I tell them. 'But not the face'. They keep their side of the bargain, and we all walk away happy, and reassured that society hasn't yet descended into barbarism.
Here's another similar experience from the sublime Attila the Stockbroker.