10/03/2026
So good 😝
Hello you lovely lot – how’s everyone doing?
All good here, although I’ve just realised I haven’t eaten anything since 6 o’clock last night.
That’s 18 hours.
No wonder Dolly has just brought me a snail in from the garden. She must think I’m on the brink of starvation. Although my Buddha like physique would confirm otherwise.
I have had two coffees though.
The second one I put a scoop of collagen powder in.
And don’t let anyone try and convince you that you can’t taste that stuff because you absolutely can.
You can taste it.
You can smell it.
It’s like someone’s shaved a bit off a cows hoof and stirred it into your latte.
But needs must in this quest for ageing well, which actually leads me onto something.
At the weekend I heard from a lady in this little gang of ours who’s about to turn 92.
NINETY-TWO.
And honestly? I bloody love that.
It’s fantastic. And just the reminder I needed.
Because somewhere along the line the world started feeding women this daft idea that once you hit a certain age you’re supposed to quietly fade into the background.
Play nicely.
Be sensible.
Stop dreaming.
Stop wanting things.
Stop being… you.
As if we all come with some sort of “best before” date stamped on our foreheads.
Absolute nonsense.
You can still kick arse at any age.
You can still have opinions at any age.
You can still fall in love, flirt outrageously, start something new, laugh too loud, wear what you want, and decide you’re not finished with life yet.
We’re not just here to produce babies and then spend the rest of our lives tidying up after everyone else.
We’re not here to spend decades holding everything together and then quietly shuffle off into the corner once the kids grow up.
And we’re certainly not past it just because we’ve got a few more candles on the cake and knees that sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies.
Life doesn’t expire at 50.
Or 60.
Or 70.
Or clearly… 92.
If anything, this is the bit where we finally stop giving quite so many sh*ts and start living a bit more on our own terms.
So go on then…
How old are you?
Let’s see the proper age range of this gang.
Pop your number in the comments and tell us whereabouts in the world you are too.
I’ll start.
I turned 58 in February - I'm in Devon, UK, and it’s the first year I’ve ever actually fessed up to my age so I'll totally get it if you can't be arsed to disclose your digits publicly.
And to our fabulous 90-odd year old.Queenagers in here – you my darlings are absolute chuffing legends.
I hope I’m still causing mild chaos when I get there.
Big love
x