Never Too Late

Chapter 1

Perspective is everything. When I was twenty, anyone aged fifty was old. Like, really old. I’m not being rude, but they were. That was how everyone our age saw them. Even when I hit thirty it still seemed like a world away.

Then one day, I woke up and there it was: FIFTY, in garish, flashing neon lights front and centre of my mind…

How the hell did that happen? Had I been in a coma?

But nope, all the years were there. They’d just sped by at an unfathomable speed and although it felt like yesterday that I was holding a chubby, red-cheeked baby in my arms and wondering how on earth I was ever going to keep this tiny human alive – as well as will she ever stop crying – she was now a confident twenty-eight-year-old woman taking charge of the evening’s activity, not to mention booking the entire five-star holiday to Goa.

There were various wrinkles, gravity wasn’t always the kindest and the hormones had gone a bit rogue – although on that last point, what else is new?

Haven’t women been dealing with that particular joy in one form or another for most of our lives?

Despite all this, I was, of course, grateful to have survived to see this age.

Many, including some dear friends, hadn’t, and so whingeing about it, when looked at from that perspective, was rather unseemly.

Getting older is a privilege not bestowed on everyone so to receive that privilege was to be lucky.

That said, I was still in some shock that this birthday had arrived a darn sight quicker than expected.