Pulling up my socks as high as they'll go

I know I'm getting old when I realise that:

Walking slowly - with Milly sniffing, scampering and leaping around in the leaves and bushes nearby - is much nicer with my hands clasped behind my back, old-professor style.

Going out during week nights is a chore, not fun. Home is my favourite night spot - no make up, no shoes - no effort.

Saying, "I'm going to tape this show because it's on after 10pm so I'll watch it tomorrow before dinner" is doubling the old-bag-o-meter. 'Taping' betrays my origins way back to video cassettes and staying up later than 10pm is just, well, too tiring these days.

Drinking an ice cold, strongbow cider in front of the telly is best when accompanied by .... knitting. One gulp, two rows, one gulp, two rows.

Junk mail for weekly supermarket specials are now read from cover to cover. "Oh, so is that why we have two 100 jumbo packs of bog rolls jammed in where my suitcase should be," says Love Chunks.



There's no point trying to find the end of the roll of sticky tape when you're tired or in a hurry.

Once you've rubbed in all the cream on your face, mirrors are best avoided.

There really is no nicer feeling than having all the dishes done and kitchen lights off by 8pm.

And my mother was right. Tucking my t-shirt into my undies and jeans *does* make me feel warmer under my jacket.