ANOTHER YEAR OLDER....
Birthdays have this nasty habit of sneaking up on a person. I know there are some that love to celebrate, with all the bells and whistles...but I fear as you get older, and older, and older it all begins to blur. Numbers become lost, unless it's a major birthday, one of those that end in a zero. My sister tends to ask me how old I am - she's fourteen months younger and so when she knows how old I am, knows how old she is. Because as most of us come to realise, age is simply a number. It doesn't tell us how healthy we are, how smart we are, how happy we are...just how many years we have lived on this planet. So what have I learnt after living this many years? That I still don't like red wine. Give me a port or tokay and it's another thing entirely, but alas my palate has not matured with the rest of me. I've learnt that I have this grey swathe in my hair, bit like Cruella De Vil, beside the cowlick that decides where I part my hair. (Hello hairdre...