Ministry Does Fitness – or the day I joined the Beautiful People

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Saturday mornings are bliss, aren’t they? The first morning of the weekend, no need to put the alarm on, a time to relax and recover from Friday Night Frolics.

Yet there I was, knocking off the alarm – for a fitness class.

Yup, a fitness class. I have become the type of woman who forsakes the Saturday lie-in in favour of a knackering hour at the gym. (I am starting to get very worried that somehow when I turned 50, I went through a wormhole in space and am now in a very strange parallel dimension where I do things like this. Donald Trump as US President has to be pretty strong evidence in favour of that hypothesis, no?)

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The eyes have it… eventually

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This is a weird age. At one point, when I look at it written down – or when I have to scroll back through the years to register online and the mouse is moving like Mo Farah – I feel old. Or rather, I feel I should be old, because most of the time I feel the same as I did in sixth form.

There is a feeling, once you get past 40, that you should start disappearing, blend into the background and let the beautiful young things shine. Don’t wear short skirts; don’t have long hair; wear comfortable shoes…

It’s the feeling when you look in the mirror and think: “A woman nearly 50 should not be wearing that outfit”, as I did a few weeks ago with the get-up below. But then, I think “short skirt, black tights, flat shoes – still got it”. Continue reading

Secret shame of the peri-menopausal woman

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Saffy. Licensed by CC by 2.0

I promised to be honest in this blog and yet… is this a post too far? Will I regret it? Will I be greeted by jeers and titters on the Tube tomorrow morning?

Okay, probably not.

But I’m about to write on a subject that few women like discussing and most keep to themselves – hair.

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Style icons for any age

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FreeImages.com/Stella Levi

(Well, that title’s not bloody true for a start because Kendall Jenner’s not on the list so that’s the young ones out of it.)

Confession time, I am a slob. I am not one of nature’s stylish people, nor do I particularly work at it. I’d love to – oh God, would I love to – because there is nothing more awe-inspiring than seeing an effortlessly chic person.

(Yes, yes, I know. The birth of a baby, the Milky Way, everything Mother Nature puts out etc. But at 8am, when my mouth can still taste the coffee and my brain can’t and there’s a “I just threw this on” Ines de la Fressange lookalike opposite me looking like she’s had a night of champagne and non-stop rampant sex and oooozing with confidence and Continue reading