The first comment I heard from IJ this year was, ‘Mummy, is this the year you turn old?’
Don’t you just love nine-year-olds?
I doubt she’ll be asking that question again but it has reminded me that I turn 40 in three short months’ time.
The occasional backache I wake up with in the morning, the pillow marks below my right eye that don’t seem to disappear until mid-morning, and my frequent references to life before the Internet are reminders too that I am getting older.
When it comes to fashion, I’m in danger of starting to favour comfort over style. I’m completely out of touch with the contents of Cosmopolitan magazine, and last week I wandered into Top Shop on Oxford Street only to find myself feeling lost in a sea of skinny teenagers who would have redirected me to the nearest M&S given half the chance, I’m sure.
I’ve started to accept I will never again have sleek, glossy hair that bounces like the hair in shampoo adverts. I’ve also started panicking about my lack of a pension plan. I wear slippers around the house. I could go on, but I won’t. It’s a depressing downward spiral that no one wants to hear.
But something has happened which has left me feeling so much better. It’s proof I am not, in fact, getting old as previously thought. I’m back in touch with today’s yoof and Topshop’s target market. You see, I’m totally addicted to Celebrity Big Brother.
Previously I was far too mature and grown up to watch it. It was a waste of valuable time that could be better spent doing something constructive. Now I’m totally hooked.
So there is hope. It’s not all aching joints and creaky knees.
And for the record, my shillings are on Rylan to win.