I’m most def not a horoscope kinda gal, but it’s always entertained me that I share a birthday with Barbara Cartland. We don’t have a helluva lot in common (as far as I know, she wasn’t that keen on The Clash), but Barbara was a trailblazer for extreme eyelashes, and I do a like a woman who rocks her own unique style.
Poor old Babs is no longer living it large, resplendent in shades of fuschia, bubblegum and puce, whereas I am still cutting about in my trusty dusty pink Fred Perry. And that’s a big deal, because as of today, I’ve left my 50s behind. Yup, bewilderingly, I’ve hit 60. SIXTY, and still wearing Fred Perry? Time to grow up, huh?
Bugger that.
But still, this birthday is a biggie, and has resulted in much self-reflection and shedloads of reminiscence (nothing wrong with rose-tinted specs BTW, just ask Barbara). On one level it’s really not a big deal, but on another it’s HOLY CRAP, HOW THE FUCK DID THAT HAPPEN? Look, I’m hardly up there with Methuselah, nor do I feel particularly haggard or decrepit, but 60 still feels pretty momentous. It’s not yet the end of days, but frankly, it feels like there isn’t a moment to waste. So you can shove your pipe, slippers, afternoon nap and behaving in a way which befits someone of my status as a (nearly) old lady…
Seriously, the “rules” about ageing can, as the young people say, do one. Okay, so I might be nearly as old as the Clyde Tunnel, but a trip to John Lewis last week provided a salutary reminder that I am not, and will never be ready for shampoo and set or crocheted cardis. I just ain’t the kind of woman who’s settling for Prima magazine and Zumba. Not while my creaking hips can still carry me along to the Barrowland.
I don’t feel old, and I certainly don’t THINK old. I can’t, it’s just not in my nature. I’ve got too many gigs still to go to, too many high jinks to have, too many scrapes to get out of, and WAY too much laughing to do. I want to have FUN, and plenty of it. I don’t know if it’s just the ageing process, or something more fundamental shifting in my mindset, but believe me, a change is gonna come and it’s gonnae be good.
That said, my Grand Plan is not all about hedonism, there’s also the small matter of changing the world. And that takes time, innit. More time than I’ve got left, probably, but I might as well have a go whilst the grey matter is still sparking, the rage still burning and the auld bod still able to be propped up at a protest.
Of course, there’s the small matter of earning a crust. I’m not yet ready for hanging up my small business hat, and couldn’t even if I wanted to thanks to the state pension being pushed ever further away. But I gotta admit, the arrival of the big six-oh has certainly increased anticipation about what lies beyond working life. Bring. It. On.
Meantime, I hope you’ll all join me to neck a few Margaritas and skank the night away.
