The Blog

The Wrong Side Of Forty

When I hit twenty-one, I thought thirty was bloody old and when thirty crept up on me, I thought 'At least I'm not forty as that's fucking ancient!!'

Anyone over forty talks about age 'just being a number' or 'you're only as old as you feel' but who actually believes that shit? The reality is, unless you have some magnificent genes or can afford a new face, that number is at the root of some serious problems.

Last year I discovered a lump; nothing sinister but I'd just preferred it wasn't there. The GP's response was 'when you get to your age, you can expect these things'.

My Age.

The wrong side of forty.

I recall my own mother going slightly off the rails when she hit forty and blaming on a combination of a relative telling her 'life begins at forty' and The Change.

Shitting hell. Something else I have to look forward to it appears. Night sweats, mood changes, creaking bones and confirmation that your body clock has well and truly ticked it's last tock.

I'm reasonably healthy but any little ache or pain makes me paranoid it's because of My Age. Could it be a first sign of arthritis or have I just pulled a muscle?

I find it harder to shift any weight. Ok I don't have the perfect diet but I do run a fair few miles each week. Apparently, that's down to My Age and my metabolism slowing down.

My glasses prescription has altered again and the lenses are getting thicker. My Age.

And if all that isn't quite bad enough, whilst applying some make up on the go, I happened to catch a glimpse of a shiny little thread poking out of my dark nest of hair.

My other half was relying on me to pass some crucial directions in the car at this moment in time and I was screaming that I had found not just a grey hair but a fucking grey hair!!

My Age. Taking the absolute piss out of me again. Cue text message to hairdresser announcing this milestone event whilst the fella was demanding that I tell him which exit off the roundabout to take. For Fuck's Sake, obviously His Age hasn't screwed him over yet as he wasn't understanding the enormity of the situation and what this actually meant. Why would I care which way we needed to go when a dirty great big grey strand has appeared on my head? No doubt the bloody thing will breed too!

It's ok saying don't dwell on it, but it's just one more outward sign of the ageing process and one step closer to the coffin. My only saving grace is that silver does seem to be the new blonde.

I am trying hard to embrace this new phase of my life and wondering whether I should be thankful that although the thirties are over with, at least I'm not fifty.

Screw You Age and Fuck You Forties!