AT SOME point, let's just call it 'the future', society is going to stop treating retired people like old fruit.

Right now it can't work out what use they have, although it suspects there must be one, and wishes they would just shuffle over so that the younger, more marketable fruit can move to the front.

But what does society know? It has shown itself on numerous occasions to be no great judge of character (or fruit). And anyway, somewhat ironically, society itself is getting older. Who is it to judge?

Boffins who are in charge of announcing these things announced some time ago that from 2011 they expect the mean age of society to be above 40 (that's mean as in average, by the way, not the age at which one becomes mean. For some people, that sets in much earlier). By 2031 in this country 20 per cent of the population will be over 65.

The young will be outnumbered. Even allowing for their enhanced capacity for movement and mastery of Sky+, if there was an age war the young would not stand a chance. For a start, those of retirement vintage are already much better organised. They've got their own university and everything.

True, the University of the Third Age sounds more like something David Icke might be involved in than what it actually is, which is perhaps why those involved tend to refer to it by its colloquial catch-all: U3A. Neither, though, accurately reflects what it actually is, which is something of a cross between night school, summer camp and the Reader's Digest.

My first exposure to U3A was in Paignton, at the monthly meeting of that town's own particular group. It could have been Torquay, Brixham, Totnes, Newton Abbot, or any one of the 749 U3As around the country.

The scene for this initiation was the underground conference room at the Esplanade Hotel on the seafront. Outside it was still early enough for me to miss the entrance and do a U-turn in the road without upsetting anyone. Inside is a different matter.

Paignton's U3A is only five years old but has already outgrown its original base in the private club over the road. I can see why.

All the chairs are taken as Diana, the chairman, bids the room silent and starts to run through matters of order. These monthly gatherings are the only time the members who attend each of the many different classes all get together.

Those classes range from bridge (naturally) to trinominoes, mah jong, play reading, table tennis, genealogy, walking and plenty more besides. The day of each is staggered throughout the month, from the first week to the fourth, allowing the very keenest to attend a whole gamut.

Sitting next to me are Marian and Anne, who are, it transpires, two fairly typical U3A members.

"I don't even know why we have a coffee break. I've got things to do," says Marian, glancing at her watch.

"It's really good for people on their own. I took early retirement and when I retired I had six months of bliss and then I found after eight or nine months I was ready to do something else."

Marian, who plays tennis, badminton and is a keen walker, is not alone in fitting U3A around a busy life. Anne, who attends the local history group run by Diana, is just as engaged.

"I don't have the time to do anything else. When I get the time, I'll do more," she says.

We are then given a fascinating talk by Ros from the Torbay street pastors, during which some of her tales of what youngsters get up to these days draw audible gasps, due in part to some differing views on what constitutes adequate clothing.

Talk over and I am raring to go. I have my sheet of groups, along with meeting times, and Diana bids me to try whichever I please.

This is the point at which it becomes a bit more like university for me, and I choose not to fill my head with too much information or activity. I will attend Colin's discussion group and Jack's snooker session, on the fourth Monday and Wednesday of January respectively.

As befits my first day at a new school, I am a little nervous when I arrive at Colin's comfortable home on the Marldon fringes. Would my new classmates tease me for being too young? Would I be blamed for everything?

I need not have worried. As each member of the group arrives and takes up position on one of the sofas or dining room chairs circling the living room they accept me as one of their own. Quite literally.

Brenda wants to know how long I've been a member, and what other groups I am in. This is not as absurd as it sounds; there is no lower age limit to U3A, just a requirement that you are in your 'third age', which is retired or semi-retired.

Colin explains who I really am and why I am here, which initially appears to stem the usual flow of discussion. A notepad and pen has that affect sometimes.

But before long things are in full swing and we run through a whole spectrum of current affairs. From an early local care services debate, through the retirement age, then the pensions gap, and finally the general election

At points the politic wanders towards what we might tactfully call 'Daily Mail territory' which makes Martyn sigh and roll his eyes.

Martyn was introduced as the youngest member of the U3A — "I'm old enough to get my buss pass..." — but described himself as 'a left-wing rose in a room full of right-wing thorns'. Which earns him a laugh but no admonishment.

The half-time ceasefire which brings us all together round the kitchen table is fuelled by some wonderful cake and cups of tea.

But we're not done yet, and the second half sees us tuck into such hot potatoes as the Babbacombe toilets, Paignton play park and then something really close to my heart: the price of alcohol.

"That would affect me," says Bob, a former Met policeman not used to going backwards in coming forwards. "Just because some little kid can't handle his drink why should we suffer?"

And then, for reasons known only to themselves, someone mentions She Who Should Not Be Named. Thankfully we're nearly at the end and so all views on Mrs Thatcher are not fully aired. Colin brings the session to a close and the discussion is done for another week.

"It's a lifeline," says Ruth, who at 84 is the group's most senior member. "Where else would you come across this sort of thing? You wouldn't meet people like this."

There are indeed very few such outlets for debate outside of the public house, where reason is so often the first casualty.

"There is a saying, you don't stop doing things because you get old, you get old because you stop doing things," says Jo, who is currently a member of 10 different groups.

"And not everyone joins because they don't know any people," adds Brenda, Bob's wife. "We wanted to join to see what they did."

"It's for people who want to use their brains a bit," says John.

"The name is a bit misleading if anything, though," adds Martyn. "The university bit might be enough to put people off."

Perhaps, but how many universities offer snooker as part of the syllabus? Not many, that's how many. And almost definitely none in the rarified surrounds of the Paignton Club, with its wood-panelled walls, top hat hooks and good old-fashioned games room.

But this is not just any snooker club, this is a U3A snooker club, where things are a little different. For a start, there are just as many non-men as there are men as I enter for my morning class.

I am paired up with Mary, to take on Jack and Angela on one of the three tables.

Mary and Angela admit to being beginners around the baize, but they are here to learn, despite a lingering suspicion that it may be too late for them to make it to The Crucible.

"If I'd wanted to play I should have taken it up years ago," says Mary, returning to her chair after a missed red. "It's hard to get your fingers in the right place."

Angela, who is quite deadly with cue in hand as it turns out, makes us pay. "My son laughed when I told him I was playing snooker," she says. "But you have to try these things don't you?"

Jack, as resident expert, gives the odd hint and tip, even if he had not expected he would be coaching when he set the group up.

"I started this group as something else for the men to do," he says. "Men are a bit of an endangered species in U3A. But it's great that we get so many women.

"I don't know what widowers do though. Down the pub?"

Possibly, although not at 10.30 in the morning one would hope.

Things are finely poised here, with Jack potting the final green, but fouling on the brown to put Mary and I 23-22 ahead. I then get the brown and blue to go a further nine ahead and it seems a done deal.

But Jack has the last word and sinks both pink and black to pip us at the last.

"Have we won or lost?" asks Angela with a genuine hint of surprise. "Won," says Jack, although I doubt either outcome would have affected the general mood much.

Angela already has other things on her mind. "I'm off to the cinema after this. Two-for-one Orange Wednesday. They are showing the new George Clooney film."

Pat from table two can't stop either, she's got gardening to do. Nor can Brian, who's going sequence dancing.

Thankfully some of the group are able to stay behind for a coffee. All I have to go to is work.

Peter and Maureen may seem like unlikely players at first, but in a U3A sense are obvious participants.

"We bought a 6ft table about 20 years ago which we play on at Christmas," says Peter. "The tables here are enormous, though, like a bowling green."

"Snooker clubs can be very male dominated," adds Maureen. "Ours is woman-centred, which might make it the only one in the world."

Actually it might, but it wouldn't be the first patch of new ground broken by the mature students of the University of the Third Age.

For at least two reasons I can think of, it must also be the only learning institution in the world from which its students never actually want to graduate.