The last few weeks of my thirties were a little unexpected. I broke my right arm in a fall at work and have spent the last three weeks trying to cope doing everything left handed. Quite a challenge I can tell you...

For the big day on Thursday I'm at a beautiful spa getting lots of luxurious treatments..then a night at a swanky hotel to mark the start of my forties.

My midlife crisis lasted precisely one hour (last Friday) where I wondered where all the years had gone..now I feel strangely liberated to be hitting the grand old age of 40.

Today I got loads of nice presents from work colleagues - champagne, flowers and cake. Fantastic!

Friends in their forties say the next couple of years are the best. I intend to make the most of them.

Middle age, bring it on!

Been seeing a chap for a few months...we've known each other for more than a decade so we both really feel as though we've rushed into it!
It's great, both feeling as though we're 22 again - some feat with the gloom of 40 on the horizon.
He texts every now and then with updates on his bad back and injured knee - I guess this is what love in middle age is going to be like. But don't knock it, I feel happier now than I have in years.

The first of the 40th birthday parties has started. Best mate had hers in London last weekend - it was champagne and Bellinis all night. Roll on middle age if it's going to continue in that vein...

You may have noticed I've been a bit tardy updating this blog. I guess I much prefer reading about other people's lives than writing about my own.

But on Sunday I met up with some friends from Oxford and they practically begged me to continue with it. That's how I remember the conversation anyway....

So what's been happening in the last few weeks? Well my knees have started making an alarming clicking sound; I have got a liver spot on my hand (it is quite difficult to see but it's there my friend, it's there) and I really want to go and see Neil Diamond and Dolly Parton in concert. This really is middle age isn't it? A few months ago I would never have considered it, or to be more honest, certainly wouldn't have written about it.

I've also been thinking about how to celebrate my big day. At the moment I'm considering having a year long celebration, going to lots of festivals, V and Glastonbury, plus a couple of sporting events - Royal Ascot being one (it coincides with my birthday). But nothing is decided....

My mum rang over the weekend. Her opening words were: "I can't believe I gave birth to you 40 years ago."
You didn't mum, I'm only 39.

And I'm clinging on to my thirties as tight as Tarzan did to his vine. BTW, I read in one of the papers that Cheeta is writing his autobiography - a warts and all account of life in Hollywood!

Well Christmas is approaching - my last as a 30 something. And guess what, I'm going to spend it as I always do. With family.
Of course over the years things have changed a bit, I no longer crave a Snowball and everything else in the drinks cupboard.

Perhaps that is a sign of getting older - wanting moderation in most things. I now usually sip champagne throughout the day and stop whenever I fear it may lead to a hangover.

Although this year I'm staying at my brother's place for a night too - and he's a whisky fiend. Now I like a tot or two as well - but I'll have to be strong as I'm travelling back the next day (an eight hour train journey involving five changes). Almost makes me want to take the car....

Colleague in the office last week said she'd seen an article about how to look fantastic at 40. She's bringing it in for me. My heart sinks. Am I going to wake up on June 19 2008 and suddenly want to adorn myself with scarves and matching handbags, whiten my teeth and show off how fabulous I am? The thought makes me want to reach for a drink and throw moderation completely out of the window. 

I was chosen as a slave girl! Oh the old gal has obviously still got a few good months left in her...well, seven to be exact.

In a couple of weeks time I'm going to achieve a mini ambition - to appear on a stage with a professional theatre company.

I'm either going to be a soldier or a slave girl...I guess the casting director's decision will tell me whether I've already reached middle age (he/she will tell me I'm a soldier and I'll have to wear a huge, heavy uniform) or whether I've still got a few more youthful months left in me (and I get to be a slave girl and run about in not very much in front of hundreds of people who've paid good money to see the show).  Gulp!

No entries for a while, basically just having a great time.
Few weekends in London, then a holiday in Cuba. Nothing like being incredibly busy for forgetting about the ageing process.
Cuba, btw, is fantastic. Get there before it all changes.
A friend of mine has always bemoaned the fact he had an incredibly happy childhood. He says that all the really talented writers were miserable children.
Think he may be right as I can find no middle-aged woes to rant on about at the moment.
 And as that is what this blog is all about, I'll sign off.

There was an article in The Independent yesterday saying a man's ideal partner should be half his age plus seven years....so that's 62-year-olds and older for me...

oh well.