Well, the day is almost here. Tomorrow, dear Reader, is my birthday. Not just any old birthday – a BIG one. Huge. Ends in a zero and starts with a 6, and if one more person tells me ‘it’s just a number’, I will smack them. I know it’s just a number: the problem is, it’s a BIG number. And if anyone had told me that I would hit my sixties selling tea towels and Christmas baubles from my freezing cold home in a part of the country most people couldn’t find on a map, I would have said they were barking. But that’s exactly what is happening … and it’s fab! Truly, it really is. My teens were grim, my twenties mixed, my thirties pretty great, my forties the best yet, my fifties even better – and now here I am, bursting into my sixties with three wonderful adult children, a husband I still love and admire, a flourishing business and the promise of a railcard – what more could I possibly want?! (Well a waistline and world peace would be nice, but I’ll settle for less if I have to.) So for anyone thinking that things are pretty grim and only going to get worse because they’re getting older, take a leaf from my book. Revel in the fact you CAN get older, and decide that the best is yet to come. I really hope it is for me: on the whole it has been pretty amazing so far, and I have every intention of making the next bit the very best yet. Forget the waistline - bring on the cake!
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