I’ve turned 60 – but all is not lost

By the time you read this I’ll be 60, having passed that milestone on Tuesday. My older friends tell me that turning 60 is like having to give a speech in public – the anticipation is worse than the reality. Once it’s in your rear-view mirror, you quickly forget about it and instead start looking ahead and thinking about the national speed limit. But as I write it’s looming like the horror of the shade, to quote William Ernest Henley.

I’m loath to bellyache about this because I can imagine being incredibly irritated when, in 20 years’ time, I read a column by some young whippersnapper complaining about turning 60. ‘Call that old?’ I’ll think to myself. ‘Try dealing with rheumatism and gout and cardiovascular disease, you ungrateful little sod.’ That’s one of the things I’ve noticed about getting on in years – you develop more empathy for the elderly because you know you’ll be among their ranks in the bat of an eye.