It’s my birthday soon. I love birthdays. I will be 43 which sounds quite old to me but I am ready to embrace my new age with open arms.

I remember someone telling me that in your twenties it’s all about career, your thirties is all about babies and by the time you hit your forties you have a degree of financial security, your career is stable and the children are no longer babies and so need a different but arguably more enjoyable kind of care. And so life becomes more fun. And I think he was right. I am having more fun in my forties than I ever had in my thirties.( I think it’s fair to say that my twenties were a riot but so long ago it’s hardly comparing like with like.)

It’s not that I am out every weekend partying. In fact I rarely party, stay up late or drink too much these days. But what I do have is a kind of security – a confidence born of maturity and experience. I know myself well and am happy in my own skin. I can predict with a fair degree of accuracy how both I and those who are close to me will react in any given situation and I have faith in my own ability to exercise my judgement in a way that gives the results that I wish for. I would, of course, love my skin to have its youthful elasticity and glow and for the well established furrows on my brow to be less defined but overall I would rather have the self assurance that comes with age than a smooth complexion.

And so I shall celebrate my birthday and refer to my age with pride should anyone be interested enough to ask. Cake anyone?