
One of the best things about growing older is being far less easily embarrassed. You have dealt with so many potentially tricky situations so often that you breeze through, no longer blushing, staring at the floor or looking for the nearest exit. I feel sorry for the young when they make a small faux pas and are convinced that everyone in the room is staring, or worse, laughing at them behind their hands, whereas at my age you know that probably no one has even noticed. If they have, and they do stare, laugh or comment, you can handle that with aplomb, too.
The last time someone made a remark in a whisper so loud that I knew they intended me to hear was when I wore Nike trainers at an investiture. It was mine, and I had to stand in line before stepping up to the then Prince of Wales – before he was upgraded.
I cannot manage high heels any longer, probably because I wore them so rarely in the past that I haven’t had enough elderly balance practice, and flat shoes make me waddle, so unless it is boot weather my feet are very comfortable in trainers. I have many pairs in a variety of vivid colours but naturally I bought new, plain black ones for Windsor Castle. I was wearing my trusty smart black outfit, bought for a similar occasion ten years earlier, but I did splash out on new headgear. I had never had a Philip Treacy before and it made me feel a million dollars. It was remarked upon.

Magazine articles are subscriber-only. Keep reading for just £1 a month
SUBSCRIBE TODAY- Free delivery of the magazine
- Unlimited website and app access
- Subscriber-only newsletters
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in