Starting again at 48

My name is Katherine and I’m an intern at The Spectator. What does that say about me? If you had to guess, you’d probably assume I was just finishing university and that I’m perhaps the niece or goddaughter of someone important. Because that’s how the media works, isn’t it? That I’m probably unpaid, but it doesn’t matter because my parents will sort me out — that’s if they didn’t buy this internship for me in a charity auction in the first place. And to be honest, that’s exactly how I imagined interns, too. Yet here I am, a 48-year-old mother of three.

I felt embarrassed telling my husband I was applying for this scheme, suspecting he might think l had taken leave of my senses. When I was successful, and told one friend, he spluttered ‘YOU?’ in astonishment, before quickly recovering his composure. My other friends were surprised too, but delighted for me nonetheless.