Today is my birthday.
I'm 45. Forty five! I can scarcely believe it. The whole thing has an air of the surreal about it. Surely I can't be five years off... gulp, half a century? I mean, I still feel like a hip, trendy young thing who spends every night out in the latest bar/club/pub.
Actually, who am I trying to kid - I feel a bit knackered and really rather enjoy quiet nights in with Classic FM & a good book. And a nice cup of cocoa.
Instead of relentlessly following the latest fashion whether or not it suits me, I now hunt down quality investment pieces that flatter my body type and I have a newfound appreciation of good tailoring.
I'd rather spend quality time with good friends than hanging out in the latest hip nightspot with people I hardly know. In fact I'm quite fond of regaling young people with my clubbing stories in a smug 'been there, done that' kind of way. I was put rather firmly in my place the other day when I was telling some beautiful young things a story about clubbing at The Hacienda. I was in full flow, convinced of my own coolness when a gorgeous boy sighed wistfully and said, 'That sounds amazing. I wish I'd been alive in the olden days'. That was me well and truly told. I'll get back to my cocoa.
All in all, it's not that bad growing old. Granted you have a few wrinkles and grey hairs but you have a real confidence and self assuredness that I wouldn't swap for anything. When you're young and life throws you a few knocks, you're convinced that it's the end, your life is ruined and you'll never be able to recover from it but as you get a few life experiences under your belt, you realize that it'll pass and you'll survive. So much less tiring than teenage angst.
I have my amazing boyfriend, my wonderful family and great friends. That's all I need really.