At 61, it’s official: I’m ‘young old’

I read with some disappointment recently that the Encyclopaedia Britannica considers 61 – the age I am now – to be the beginning of old age. It defines ‘middle age’ as being between the ages of 40 and 60, which means that’s in my rear-view mirror. The only crumb of comfort is that some more charitable encyclopaedias describe the years 60 to 69 as ‘young old’, which is better than being an old Young I suppose.

When I turned 60 last year, I told myself that you’re only as old as you feel and took succour from the fact that I’ve never spent a night in hospital, apart from when I got knocked off my bike, which doesn’t count. My energy levels remain high and I can still put in a 14-hour shift – even pull an all-nighter – when required.

But a trip to New York last week did make me feel rather old. I was there for the annual freedom dinner held by the Atlas Network, a global, free-market organisation founded by Antony Fisher, who set up the Institute of Economic Affairs. The following day Caroline flew out to join me and we spent the weekend seeing old friends and strolling round the West Village. We first got together when we were both living there more than 25 years ago, and we thought it would be nice to take a trip down memory lane.

It was extraordinary how much had changed. The West Village still had a faintly bohemian air in the mid-1990s, with its jazz clubs and dive bars, but now it’s like Notting Hill on steroids. Every second shop on Bleecker Street is a high-end fashion boutique. The dilapidated building opposite my old apartment on Perry and West 4th, where the local chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous used to meet, is now a fancy French restaurant.