If this blessed rain wasn’t enough to make us all depressed, I am now officially 40 years and 6 months old. The weather has been rubbish and the summer a complete wash out. If I don’t get some sun soon, by January I will be counselling myself.
Thinking about birthdays today as it is my Sister’s 37th – Happy Birthday Charlotte – and it would have been my Mum’s 64th (!). Now having made it half way to 41 years young, I thought I would reflect on my four score years on this earth. Someone, joyfully, recently reminded me that I was, in fact, actually now in my 5th Decade. You will appreciate that they are banished from the Christmas email list, forever.
In an article in the Daily Mail the other day, (I know, I know, it is my dirty little secret like my voting Tory), I read about the 30 telltale signs that show you are getting really, really old. Again, depressingly, I seem to cover about 27 of them. Here are just some of my favourites:
Falling asleep in front of the telly (who doesn’t as it is so boring apart from Deadenders, Dr Who and Torchwood), developing a fondness for sherry (who can do any housework without a bottle or two?), forgetting names (compulsory in my job), choosing clothes and shoes for comfort not style (again, compulsory with my job), moving from Radio 1 to Radio 2 (…!), ears growing bigger and hair sprouting everywhere (thank God for the miracle of Waxing!).
The most depressing one on the list was joining the National Trust…which we recently did. These are all signs I am growing older and that I have to accept certain realities in my life like:
1. I am never going to be Tardis Tottie (a Dr Who assistant).
2. I am never going to sing lead in a West End musical.
3. I am never going to have a flat tummy, ever.
4. I am never going to be one of those women who go away for an impromptu romantic weekend with just my credit card in my back pocket. I now need the kitchen and bathroom AND en suite sinks packed in my several overnight bags before I can even entertain the thought of leaving my home for any length of time. I mean what if the Rapture happens whilst I am away? I will sooo need my emergency set of small screwdrivers and novelty ice-cube trays then…
5. I am never going to be able to go out for a sherbet (or sherry) or two again or be able to laugh without my Tena Lady firmly applied…(that is a girl thing boys, although I am sure they do boy ones as well.)
Hmm this getting old lark really sucks. However, there ARE positive plus points:
1. I can now say with authority – I am 40 don’t you know!
2. I do not have to answer to anyone (apart from my Bishop) or explain or apologise about the colour of my hair, nails, lips or toes.
3. I can buy booze legally in the supermarket, laugh out loud when the girl asks my age and can drink said booze without falling down within three minutes.
4. I do not have to save anything ‘FOR BEST’. At my age, why wait? That includes best knickers, best bras, best handbags, best albs, best stoles etc
5. I can drive and be insured without the cost of it creating another national debt crisis.
6. I don’t have to explain to anyone why I like Wham.
7. I can sing and dance along to the music in the supermarket and not feel embarrassed, even if my daughter does disown me.
8. I am proud to have handbags that are older than my daughter and my marriage.
9. As I am getting older, I can blame the fact my body is constantly breaking down due to my age rather than the fact I am fat.
10. Mostly, I can have fun and relax because I have seen it all at least once before and know that life will carry on, all will be well and there will always be another boy band to replace the last one that broke up.
So getting older isn’t all that bad, in fact 40 is now the new 30. Roll on 50 I say.