WHEN people say life begins at 40, I’m assuming they mean after the hangover has passed.
Because as a new member of the 40 club, I have to say recovery from a big night on the town is not what it used to be.
We all know the day after the night before can be a bit of a drag.
But does it have to hurt for a whole week?
I swear, the ‘Big 4-0’ feels more like the ‘Big 4- oh-my-gosh-I-think-I-overdid-it’.
How does Keith Richards do it?
Actually, don’t answer that.
The plus side to the after-party downer is not only did I survive, I survived without looking too much like a 70-year-old rockstar.
As it turns out, 40 isn’t that much different from 39, or even 29 for that matter.
I still stay up too late and watch trashy television.
I still giggle on the phone with my girlfriends and I still have obsessive crushes on film stars I will almost certainly never meet.
And the fact that my daughter will no longer humour me by letting me dance with her at the school disco probably has more to do with her getting older than me getting older.
That will never stop me trying, though.
One of the best things about ageing is caring less and less about what other people think of you.
It’s a lesson I tried to teach my little girl on the weekend when I hit the dance floor with her for some One Direction action.
Truth be told, she was already on the dance floor with her friends.
But within two seconds of me joining them with my awesome dance moves, they were gone.
I barely noticed I was so caught up in the moment.
But that’s 40, really, isn’t it?
One minute you’re part of the cool crowd and the next you’re on your own in the middle of the school disco getting down to music made by boys who could be your children.
At least I had fun.
Until I put my hip out.
Happy birthday to me!
