You know how you can tell who’s old these days? Don’t worry, they’ll tell you.

I’m such a prime example of this. I tell people all the time that I’m 36, and then remember that I’m actually 38, 39 next month. I need to stop doing that because nothing makes a person seem older than when they’re focussing on the one thing that shouldn’t matter. It’s a number after all, just an indication of how long a person has been on the earth, nothing to do with their character, their achievements or how they should live their lives.

I need to stop worrying about how much younger the people around me are and just be happy they want to spend time with me. I’m cool, right? And cool comes with experience (sometimes), with acceptance of who we are and with just being gifted, I guess.

What so bad about old anyway? Being old doesn’t stop us loving or experiencing the beautiful pain of life, of laughing and getting fucked up on a Friday night. It doesn’t stop us buying a leopard print coat ‘cos we saw two women on the way to work absolutely rocking theirs.

It doesn’t stop us hating the gym but smashing it anyway, make us immune to the appeal of office gossip, or stop us reading a Daily Mail article about Kristen Stewart’s love life over the shoulder of a colleague while scoffing that we’d never read the “Daily fucking Mail”.

Old is whatever we choose it to be and I choose to be cool with my age from this day forth.

Today, this second I am older than I’ve ever been. I’m younger than I’ll be tomorrow. In ten years I’ll maybe read this back and think, what this fuck was my problem?

I’m loving for the moment now, innit? Surrounded by younger people who think I’m cool.

Not a bad life to be part of is it? ❀️