40-something or other

An indulgent picture of Mr Darcy... you'll find out why when you read on...

Now I have time to unpeel my fingers from my keyboard and get my head out of the 1940s (have been writing a synopsis for my new war-time novel), I thought I’d reflect on what it’s like to be in my own ‘forties’. 

Here I am: child-free but cat-rich, getting fitted for varifocals and booking premium economy. I used to laugh at people who went upstairs for something… and then forgot what that thingey was, you know, oh never mind... There’s always alcohol and Radio 2. I’m listening to the same DJs as I did in the heyday of Radio 1: the same shows, with the same music. I find it rather comforting – plus they’re all still older than me….just.

What else? Oh yes, I browse the YSL counter and will actually buy something (now I am in my fifth decade I can afford it) plus track down various forms of Night Repair like my life depended on it. You may also find me shamelessly tussling with teenage girls over the Once It’s Gone, It’s Gone rail in Top Shop. Why is it have no qualms going to such ‘happening’ shops (yes, and I’m proud to remember Chelsea Girl) but would not be seen dead in Per Una?

Short answer is, I think I’ve still got it. After all, I fantasise like I did when I was a teenager that I may have a chance with Mr Darcy (that’s Colin, not Matthew. Well, actually, sometimes it's Larry). But look on the bright side: it is a truth universally acknowledged that in Jane Austen years I’d be dead…