Mrs Button, who has been putting up with working with me for almost 10 years, is contemplating a hobby as she plummets into her late-middle 30s and realises that it’s time to take life by the scruff of its neck.
It started with that peculiar documentary about the rock choirs full of middle-aged people dancing about in shopping centres, and morphed into an ambition to join the Womens Institute. I’m sure we’ll hear more as time puddles on and she starts bringing scones to morning coffee.
But we’ll not pre-empt; that’s not what this post is about, really.
It’s about the fact that the WI website looked funky. For a second, when I looked in last night, I though “Oh, they’ve gone ever so up-to-the-minute”
And then I realised that they haven’t really. It’s just me that’s suddenly become ancient.
All around me, there are other small signals that I am getting old.
1 – I worry about putting itunes on pause for too long. Something to do with stretching the cassette and wearing it out.
2 – I can’t stay in bed. Until fairly recently, I’d fairly regularly spend at least one weekend day laid in until lunchtime. Now I feel I’ve wasted the day if I’m not up and at it by eight thirty.
3 – Last time I dyed my hair, it occurred to me that I no longer do it to perk up the colour. I now do it to hide the grey.
4 – I’m increasingly walking into rooms, cupboards and so on and forgotten what I’ve come in for. I’ve taken to making myself a note and carrying it with me.
5- I ache all the time. Often in places where I was never even conscious of having a place before.
I’m beginning to wonder whether there’s a special potion for the over 40s. Something that I’ll perhaps receive a consignment of on my birthday. A secret that I can’t be told until then.
Or whether people of my age just manage to plaster a smile on, put up with it and pretend it’s just a few aches and pains. Better that, I guess, than giving in to it all just when life’s supposed to be properly beginning.