I've been wrestling with this benefits cuts business and the rights and wrongs of us elders being exempt from them. My dilemma began with conversations over teas and lunches, at the cafe and in the common room at the community cen tre. Initially, such discussions focused on the more general issue of the obligations of society towards the economically ineffectual.

Predictably enough, battle lines were drawn between the likes of Charlie – "Point is, you should reap what you sow, see – if you haven't planted enough corn, you don't deserve the bread; them scroungers, all those kids and plasma screens; be in it to win it, right?" – and the more thoughtful contributions of Elizabeth, the retired headteacher, and one or two other ladies: "They're not all feckless; in most cases it's bad luck … or real disabilities."

In spite of my natural preconceptions, I could see that Charlie had a point – you've got to put in to take out – and there were clearly many people on the receiving end of benefits who had not only failed to contribute to the national insurance pot but who had, equally, not bothered to take into account the consequences of their own behaviour and lifestyles.

All things being equal, it is difficult in principle to defend the skivers against the strivers. Except, of course, all things are not equal. There is a solid linkage between the economically defective and the socially disadvantaged. Most are the victims of happenstance. My engagements with the damaged and dysfunctional have made me aware of one fact: that shit is magnetic and disproportionate; a few people get seriously screwed, while the rest of us, like Charlie and me, have a tolerable encounter with the slings and arrows. To assume that material status somehow reflects civic probity is Pharisaic. Nor should non-contribution be taken as a wilful choice. Both perceptions assume a level playing field. And it isn't.

It was at this point that Elizabeth questioned whether we alone, of all recipients of benefit, should be exempt from cuts. Naturally, Charlie challenged this. "What we get is peanuts: bus passes, TV licences …"

Then Joyce threw the curve ball: "And prescriptions; three-quarters of the NHS budget goes on us, remember."

As the recent recipient of a pacemaker, I'm uncomfortable. There had been occasions in the frightening episodes of arrhythmia, before its insertion, when I had entertained some pretty atavistic thoughts about past self-gratifications in lifestyle.

What I mean is that what had gone wrong clinically with me till now, and what I could expect in the next few years, could reasonably be attributed to past life choices, and my care would almost certainly exceed financially what I had paid in during that lifetime.

The present geriatric cohort could not have been expected to live so long a life, but the next generations are being left in no doubt that 90 is the new 70. And if the basic principle of society is to be upheld, then it is surely reasonable to hope that people with nonagenarian expectations make lifestyle decisions that ensure that their final years are not undertaken at public expense. Elizabeth is right.

We do need to recalibrate the relationship between the individual and society, and longevity could serve as a touchstone. If the young know in advance that there will be a finite pot to pay for pills, bypasses and replacements, they might be advised that there would be a cost to pay for fags, fats and fast living, and that they, not society, are going to have to pay more towards it.