Kylie, Lulu and me.

Remember the Commonwealth Games closing ceremony? Kylie, in her thigh-highs; Lulu rockin` those tartan leggings? There`s not much between them height-wise; but hell--they`re twenty years apart. And, as Twitter so generously acknowledged during the proceedings, they`re both ageing so damn well.

I studied them on stage, shoulder to shoulder, belting out Auld Lang Syne, and reasoned, without the slightest soupcon of bitterness, that it`s probably easier to look that good if you`ve got great genes, a whole team of stylists, a limitless budget and your own range of beauty products.

But then...imagine the stress of having your name, like Lulu does, on a range of goodies called `Time Bomb`. You`d have to look incredible every time you went out. If you even put the bins out sans slap, some snapper would catch your crows` feet and send `em viral in a nanosecond. Not that either of them has got crows` feet of course. (Yeh, c`mon.Whoever said life was fair?)

Either way, for the rest of us...drifting numerically somewhere in between the two songbirds, getting older has the potential to be a bit depressing. You can`t get away with wearing anything you like any more. Keeping fit takes more effort, especially on the days your trainers look up at you, sideways, and say:`You`re going out running? Seriously?` The tubes of `age defying` moisturiser seem to empty faster. And...OK...heads don`t (always) turn like they used to.

You can get glum about it. Or you do what I try and do. And spin it.

So...every time you feel down about your DoB; dwell, for a moment on people in the news; or on people you`ve loved and lost, who`d have given anything to reach the age you`re at now.

Remind yourself that while age might be a real thing that occasionally laughs, hyena-like at you, from that yellowing birth certificate in the drawer, it`s really a state of mind. In your head, you`re still 18, yeh? OK...27. Well, you know...

Your mother told you to always tell the truth, but she didn`t mean about the age thing. Really. Until you hit the zone where you`re proudly calling radio stations and saying `I`m 86, you know...`; lie a little. If no eyebrows are raised, you`ve got away with it.

Either that or the person you`re lying to has had Botox. Ha.

Have a lovely day :)

PS: Ever thought about what it means to act your age? Take a look?

 click here 

And ...do you talk on Twitter? How old is everyone else you talk to? One day I asked. And they fessed up :

click here