Now I’m Sixty-Four
It was my birthday at the weekend. I love birthdays; I love being spoiled; and I love surprises. When I’m asked what I want as a present, I always say “I don’t mind what it is, or how small it is. I just want you to choose something and wrap it up so it’s a surprise when I open it.”
As a writer, and especially a writer with shiny notebook syndrome, I was delighted to receive a wonderful array of stationery-related presents, including notebooks ranging from the purely functional to the most beautiful and inventive ones. But I was especially delighted with the huge pack of coloured markers from my husband. My mind-maps will be taking on a whole new (colourful) dimension from now on.
It was my youngest sister, with a sibling’s typical lack of respect for age, who pointed out I could no longer sing the Beatles classic, having now reached that eponymous age. She did, however, soften the blow by assuring me that yes, they do still need me and yes, they will still feed me. So that’s alright, then! And, if I can’t sing the original, I can always have a go at adapting the lyrics – in one of my shiny new notebooks, of course.