Turning Seventy

“But I don’t feel it” was my mother’s standard response when anyone dared to remind her of her biological age, but at one minute past midnight two days ago, I knew I could no longer pretend to be young.

Old, or to be polite, older people, used to be the ones to turn to for advice, revered for their wisdom. I am increasingly aware that I am the one who is constantly consulting others, particularly people thirty or forty years younger than myself. As my next book will feature contemporary characters in their early thirties, I have to.

I simply can’t keep up. I have always had my own dress code, so changes in skirt length or trouser width only matter when I need new clothes. However, I see myself as liberal and progressive until I talk to my son. Don’t get me started about changes in technology, particularly the interference of AI, and (oh dear, this could be dangerous, and I had better do something about it) changes to the highway code.

On a more positive note, referring back to technology, I have greatly benefitted from my recent engagement with social media and all the lovely messages I’ve received from friends on Facebook. However, I hope I meet you in person soon, which is far preferable.