In my teens and twenties I had a very definite idea about how my life would look and feel when I was old – from around 35 or so.

I didn’t ever imagine myself to be outrageously rich with chauffeurs, a ski lodge in the Alps and a private cinema.

Nope, I wasn’t ever dreaming of a life of champagne, truffles and designer bags, as I deliberated over whether I could actually afford that orange eye shadow from Chelsea Girl (hey it was the 80s). But I did expect to be reasonably comfortable off-ish.

I took it for granted that by midlife I would have an almost paid off mortgage, drive a smart car, be impeccably turned out at all times – courtesy of the pricier end of the High Street – and be permanently enveloped in a delicately fragranced cloud of Chanel.

Inevitably, of course, I’d fill my any spare time with shopping and dropping into immaculate salons and clinics for manicures, facials and removal of anything daring to grow without invitation – random hair, warts, bunions etc. Of course, I wouldn’t be even slightly intimidated by the beauty queens working there, because some miracle would have occurred making me just an older version of them.

The reality is, perhaps, a little different.

I don’t own a car because driving terrifies me, I don’t waste my time entering the glamour of any retail outlet doesn’t include prices in their stylish window displays and if I’m lucky I’ll pay off my mortgage before I’m 96.

I do occasionally leave a trail of Chanel wafting behind me. However, that’s only when the counter girl is too busy to notice how much I need to test that bottle of Coco Mademoiselle.

I don Marigolds to deal with all my own necessary minor operations in the privacy of my own bathroom and I do feel a tad intimidated by the stunning girls on makeup counters.

I got the shopping thing right I do plenty of that – just not as exotically as I might have wished.

I am completely devoted to spending my lunch breaks browsing the aisles of Poundland – except I don’t just browse. Normally I end up with a full basket and part with a small fortune.

It’s my own fault because, just as recent examples, I now own a pink feather boa, a green plastic frog and a stick on moustache – each one seemingly essential.

If I purchased just the items I have a genuine use for I could actually afford to buy Chanel scent.

What I didn’t realise when I was younger though was just how very wrong I would be about my wealth.

Apologies – I realise this sounds nauseating – but although you know the best things in life are free you don’t always take the time to appreciate it.

I have two amazingly wonderful daughters, fantastic family and friends, a great job, and I laugh a lot. I’ve actually ended up so filthy rich I could bathe in it...