I look at my skin these days and think: I hate ageing. I have wrinkles, age spots and wobbly bits that weren’t there before. Other times, I think: I love ageing. It’s a privilege denied to my sister who died this year at 51. I very nearly carked it myself aged 49, so I’m grateful to be here. I hate that I can’t run any more, but I love that I can walk for miles. I hate that I have to take medication, but I love that I feel really healthy. I hate having to watch my weight, but love that I have a healthy appetite and enjoy eating really good food. I hate that I look ridiculous in skinny jeans, but I love that the seventies boho vibe is back. I hate that I’m the worst dancer in my zumba class, but I love that I can do an hour’s aerobic exercise.