I’m at the stage in my life where, according to some crap I read the other day, I should evidently be slowing down. I have my bus pass, and should spend my time dozing in the chair watching soaps and knitting. (no pipe and slippers though) Oh and if I’m feeling brave, get the bus into town (using the bus pass of course) and have a wander around Marks and Spencer’s classic collection.
Phooey to that. I can’t knit, don’t watch the soaps, and if I doze in the chair I wake up with a crick in my neck. Oh and I prefer M&S food to the classic collection.
Their G-F goodies are excellent. Not the bread, but you can’t have everything.
And anyway, according to another article, one I like much better, your 60’s are the new 40’s.
I have, you see, decided that I’m not ashamed of my age. Why do so many of us when asked how old we are mutter and mumble and then say something like I hate having to answer that.
I used to be like that. Then I thought hold on. I have years of learning in me. Years where I discovered who I am, what I am and what I intend to be.
Years where I discovered I had a brain and a mind of my own. Discovered I could write, did write and became a published author. Time to accept I was not going to grow old gracefully, but more than likely disgracefully and enjoy every second.
Time to have learned (or not) from my mistakes, and accept that, and move on.
And time to accept that I’ve been lucky and got to the age I am. There’s a hell of a lot of people who, for some reason or another will never get to bus pass age.
I had a birthday a few days ago. I got the cake, the fizz and lots of pressies. And an out of tune rendition of, ‘When I’m 64’ with the words slightly changed to… ‘I will still need you, I will still feed you, now your sixty four.’
Which, he did…
It’s a busy month for me. I have a book out with the fabulous Doris O’Connor, The Dukes’ Christmas Abductions,
and one on my own, Holly’s Christmas Dom,
Ohhh and book five of Diomhair, Secrets Learned goes on preorder tomorrow (15th)