I was playfully told off this week for moaning about getting older. The rebuff came from a friend and colleague who (quite rightly) pointed out that I’m invariably surrounded by people older than me whenever I moan about this.

And I do moan about this quite often.

Well, she has a point.

However, in the words of Ally McBeal, my problems are so much larger than anybody else’s problems, for the simple reason that they’re MY problems.

Everything’s worse when it’s happening to you – ever notice that?

And yes, I do see aging as a real problem.

I’m glad the rest of the world is getting older.

I love older ladies and their glorious shocks of grey hair, their wisdom and their “I’ve seen it all, sonny” attitudes.

I’m just not thrilled at the idea of becoming one of them.

Basically, I’m happy to stay unwise and ungrey.

But I feel bad about it – surely I should embrace this (slow) getting of wisdom? But no. It seems I’m not the only one resisting the aging process.

I was thrilled recently when I read an interview with Phillip Schofield in which he summed up this response to aging quite perfectly: “It was never supposed to happen to me.”

It wasn’t, was it? As a teenager, older people took great delight in warning: “Just you wait! You’ll understand one day!”

I’d smile politely and nod, but inside I was screaming NO! I’m NOT LIKE YOU! I’ll never succumb to all the signs of ageing you’re so wilfully displaying.

And living and working among the University of Oxford has its downside – recent research coming out of Oxford serves as a reminder that our brains dislike the aging process almost as much as I do.

The last study indicates that specific parts of our brains – always the same in everyone – both develop last and degenerate first.

So we get a tiny window where that part of our brain is at its prime and then POOF! the best is over.

I’ll tell you a secret – the reason I’m feeling like this is because my birthday is approaching.

At least it was my birthday, until last year when I decided to move it.

That’s one of the perks of ageing – as an adult you can make decisions related to the date of your birthday and nobody can stop you.

So my technical birthday is in a week, while my shiny new (and importantly later) birthday is deep into next year.

I’m sorry. I’ll perk up. Well, my body won’t but my thoughts will. It is Christmas, after all. And months away from my birthday…

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