Sometimes I’m glad that I’m not that young anymore.
(I can say that because no-one knows this is me.)
Because with age comes freedom; the freedom to:
bake cakes and eat them;
buy a caravan, sell the caravan;
keep hens and make cute things;
wear pink and love my lawn flamingos:
go crazy for kitsch, bake more cakes or, if I’m short of time (and the hens haven’t laid any eggs) go out and eat other people’s cakes and – perhaps, best of all – with age comes the freedom to
lie about how old I am!
(Well, like I’ve said in my ‘Categories’ – you know, that bit on the right hand side of my blog – I shall never reveal my age unless I am forced to and even then I’ll lie. It’s just something I do…)