So you think you’re middle aged?

My Grandmother used to say that old age doesn’t come alone. She was referring to pain and misery, she also used to say, old age is not for the faint hearted.

Cheery old dear.

I’m not so old I know, but at what age do we stop referring to ourselves as middle aged? How long do we all think we’re going to live for ffs? Perhaps life, like pregnancies should be divided into trimesters so that our expectations can be managed and being called old would lose some of it’s sting.

Mr T made it to 87, the Duchess to 93 meaning that murderous maniacs, accidents and/or unforeseen physical failures aside, I may well make it to 90 or indeed beyond. The thought horrifies me but with this in mind, my middle trimester would run from approximately 30 to 60.

Oh dear.

I met a woman one time who was 105, we had tea together, she was wearing a Channel suit from the fifties. I was 24. She apologised for dropping food down her front, I’m so sorry you have to see this, she said, I’ve got so little control over my body these days, it’s frustrating, inside I’m still 19.

If I live a long life I’ll probably start to drop food down my front too. Hold on a minute, I do that already.

Damn.

I am aware that my old age is also approaching with company, no pain to speak of, no misery but comfy shoes, efficient raincoats, scented drawer liners, a wheely bag and nostalgic handbag choices, and if you can imagine it, even fewer fucks to give…to name just some of the gang.