I’m not sure whether to say Good Morning, Good Afternoon or Good Evening, because I’ve no clue when you logged on, but I hope you will consider yourself duly greeted. Anyway, I’m delighted you’re here, so hello.
A bit about me. I started off as a temporary secretary to Shirley Williams at the Fabian Society and then worked at Vogue, followed by the Sunday Telegraph, the Daily Mail (as a rock columnist), Woman magazine, the Sunday Mirror, Today (as an agony columnist) and now with a weekly column in the Independent and a monthly one in the Oldie. I’ve also written quite a few books, and in the later years of my life it turns out that I’ve written enough books to merit the title of “writer” (!) so if you’d like to buy any on-line, feel free. You’ll find details about all of them on the books page.
You can find out all about my childhood by reading Janey and Me but in a nutshell, I was an only child, brought up by two very arty parents in the fifties.
Where am I at the moment? Single, 68, with one son, who plays in the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain (http://www.ukuleleorchestra.com). I’m very, very lucky, in that I have two wonderful grandchildren and I’m still working. Like most people of my age, I don’t fear death, but fear getting mad, incapable and gaga.
The years after being 60 have, no question, been the happiest years of my life. That’s why I wrote No! I Don’t Want to Join a Bookclub, a fictional diary of being sixty and a grannie. In the summer of 2009 I put myself on stage at the Edinburgh Festival with a show based on my latest book, The Virginia Monologues, 20 Reasons Why Growing Old is Great. and this year, 2012, I am repeating it at Edinburgh, with the title Growing Old Disgracefully.
To make things even better, there’s an upcoming exhibition of my uncle, Robin Ironside’s, work at the Grosvenor Gallery in the Grosvenor Museum in Chester from September 2012 to January 2013
I feel really grateful that, for me at least - I suffered from terrible depression all through my early life - it does seem there is gold at the end of the rainbow. Well, don’t let’s go mad here. Not gold, perhaps, but certainly not a pile of old rubble. Isn’t that all one can ask?