Used to having my finger on the pulse – or, at least, not far off it – I am continually stunned lately by how little I seem to understand youth culture.

Let’s start with clothing, or the lack of clothing, to be precise.

Since when did it become okay to go out for dinner wearing a belt as a skirt and a hanky as a top?

I know I sound like an old lady, but I just don’t see visible kidneys as a fashion statement.

And I don’t even know what to say about a new trend I refer to as the sartorial equivalent of a mullet hairdo; the mullet skirt.

Short at the front, long at the back, it just looks to me like a garment in the throes of a crushing identity crisis.

Is it a mini? Or is it Amish dress-up day?

I guess it depends on where you’re standing, literally.

Needless to say, those skirts confuse me almost as much as Lady Gaga’s filet mignon get-up.

It’s not that I have completely given up on my youth.

I’m not quite ready for bingo day at the nursing home.

My heels – not that they get out much – will go another few rounds, at least.

But more and more, the Homy Ped section at the local pharmacy is starting to look more appealing.

And it’s funny, but getting older is okay.

It’s not as scary as I thought.

Admittedly, the idea of having my meals blended to a pulp and drunk through a straw is less than appetising.

But, to me, so is Lady Gaga.

Now, what time does bingo start?