Virginia Ironside has discovered that it's not being old that's nerve-racking, it's being young
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There is a phrase I dread hearing. It’s usually spoken by unhappy women who, having reached their sixties, are determined to blame their advancing years for all the things they feel are now beyond their grasp in life.
The phrase is ‘when you get to our age’, and it is usually followed by a litany of the experiences they can no longer enjoy: dancing the night away, staying up after midnight, sleeping in a tent, having one-night stands or enjoying rock music.
At the age of 68, my viewpoint is rather different. I’ve been young, worn the T-shirt and given it to Age Concern, and now I am enjoying this entirely new age — the age of being old.
When I was young, I remember elderly friends telling me, enviously, that youth was the very best time of life. As a result, I felt downhearted. Were they saying that from now on things were going to get worse? What a terrible prospect.
But now I’ve reached the same age as them, I’ve discovered that it’s not being old that’s nerve-racking, it’s being young.
What a relief it is to reach the autumn of one’s years and not have the future suspended in front of you like an intimidating cloud throwing out tormenting dilemmas.
Should I be a social worker, a secretary, a ballet dancer, a shelf-stacker or a writer? I found the myriad possibilities as frightening and confusing as those shelves of different olive oils at the supermarket — there was just too much choice.
Being old means that instead of facing a daunting future, you have a rich past stretching back behind you, which you can plunder and enjoy as you wander down memory lane. My own memory lane is as long as the M1: young people’s stretch no further than a short mews.
With each day that dawns when you’re young, you’re learning something — you’re making mistakes, being hurt, hurting others and stumbling through life.
When you are older, however, you’ve learned from your experiences, and the passage through life becomes far smoother.
Virginia Ironside has discovered that it's not being old that's nerve-racking, it's being young
The result? The absence of all that anxiety. Does she like me? Did I say the right thing? Will he ask me out? Will he ring? Will I ever get married and have children? Am I stupid?
The confidence that comes with age means anxiety and insecurity is swept away, and in its place there is a carte blanche to be eccentric and outspoken — as exemplified by Quartet (the recent film starring Maggie Smith and Pauline Collins, set in a fun-filled home for retired musicians.)
I can joke with strangers in the street and call people I hardly know ‘darling’. I can send back food in restaurants with a smile. And if I fall over in the street, I can blame the pavement.
Even better, at my age you can patronise the middle-aged. I met a 50-year-old the other day and was delighted to be able to say to him: ‘I’m old enough to be your mother!’
The fact that my life feels finite gives every day new poignancy. I can cut to the chase: walk out of bad films and refuse invitations from disappointing friends.
I can tell people, loudly, that I don’t agree with them. Or, even better, admit I haven’t a clue what they’re talking about.
And I’ve got the confidence to know that if I can’t understand what someone says, it’s not because I’m daft, it’s because they can’t explain it properly.
What’s more, I can start new ventures with no fear of failure, since nothing matters very much any more. At 63, I decided I’d like to try out a one-woman show called Growing Old Disgracefully, which was a kind of granny stand-up. With a courage I never possessed when I was young, I took the show to Edinburgh, and I’m still touring with it now.
In the old days, I’d have been too nervous even to squeak out a toast to a birthday friend. These days I stride out on stage, rubbing my hands with glee at the prospect of an hour of entertaining hundreds of people.
Most seem to regard being old as some kind of downward slide. In some ways this is true, but it’s worth remembering that the view as you hurtle down the hill is far more spectacular than when you’re trudging up it.
Virginia Ironside when she was 22: 'When you're young, you're learning something - you¿re making mistakes, being hurt, hurting others and stumbling through life'
I prefer to think of old age as entirely new, uncharted territory, where my fellow oldies and I are intrepid explorers, hacking our way through the jungle and discovering treats along the way. Grandchildren are certainly one of the most glorious surprises.
I have also found that, with age, nature has become a whole lot more interesting. Show me a view of rolling hills when I was young, and I’d have dismissed it as boring. Now I can stare for hours at the landscape, doing that curious thing you can only do when you’re old — which is marvelling.
True, sexual desire wanes, but why lament that? I’ve had enough sex to last me a lifetime. It means that for the first time, men are now available to me not as potential lovers, but as friends with whom I can share deep feelings of love and closeness.
Virginia Ironside says: 'I prefer to think of old age as entirely new, uncharted territory, where my fellow oldies and I are intrepid explorers'
Old friends are another profound joy, akin to treasured possessions, and I find re-reading classic works of literature is a definite perk at my stage in life. Invariably you’ve forgotten the plots since your first reading, and anyway your views have changed radically.
I used to regard Jane Austen and Tolstoy as geniuses; today I’m not so sure. Anthony Trollope?
Quite the reverse. I used to hate going to the theatre. Now I love it.
Being really old, however, is probably a rather different matter. Arthritis has come creeping into my body, as well as various other unspeakable physical complaints. Every day I discover yet another friend has cancer, or some grim terminal illness.
So I’ll admit that there is a period which might not be quite as much fun as now — perhaps after 85, an age group which one respected American medical dictionary describes as ‘old old’.
But death doesn’t worry me. It’s strange that the older you are, the less frightened you become of death. In fact, if most of my elderly friends are anything to go by, I might even welcome the Grim Reaper when he knocks.
But, for the moment, life is a delight, and it seems a shame that, having been congratulated on everything from passing exams and getting married to writing books, nobody has ever congratulated me on reaching my sixties. Rather, they have commiserated.
Yet it’s the thing I’m most proud of. I’ve managed to stagger through this extraordinary vale of tears to reach my gold at the end of the rainbow intact — and happier than I’ve ever been in my life.
Virginia’s new comic novel, No! I Don’t Need Reading Glasses! is published by Quercus (£14.99). See virginiaironside.org