Whoever coined the term ‘to age gracefully’ was clearly not in their late 40’s and quite frankly I think they should slide off their hipster high horse and feel what it’s like to barely recognise the face that stares back at them from the bathroom mirror each morning. There is nothing graceful about ageing. Gravity becomes the enemy as your cheeks, boobs and butt start to fall like the Roman Empire and your annual mammogram is the only occasion you’ll be asked to appear topless on film.

I no longer refer to my knees as right and left, but rather good and bad and my tweezers now have a permanent place in the centre console of the car. I often wonder who wrote the rule book of aging gracefully and what constitutes acceptable intervention? I must admit that I’m a little conflicted on this issue. I have dabbled with a few (non invasive) cosmetic procedures, but fear that this could be a slippery slope ending with a face that looks like it belongs to the Bride of Wildenstein. I also experimented with lash extensions …. because there’s nothing sexier than fun and flirty lashes .. right? Well yes … in theory. I however, felt like a drag queen en route to mardi gras parade.

So I’ve concluded that aging gracefully is a bit of a crock. It’s like the sporting equivalent of performance enhancing drugs.  Abstinence is meritorious, but the temptation exits to do whatever you can get away with whilst simultaneously avoiding detection.