James Delingpole: Why I'm enjoying being middle aged ... I've never enjoyed life more
WHEN does middle age officially begin? Being just a few months away from my 47th birthday, I am ideally placed to give you the definitive answer: it starts when you’re about 10 years older than I am now. Or possibly 15 years.
What I can say for certain is that whatever “middle-aged” is, I’m definitely not it yet. Why, just look at my Adidas Gazelles! Look at my not-grey hair! Look how much I’m liking (as they say) the Lana Del Rey album! I’m still young, I tell you. Young! Young young young young young!
That said, I’ve a suspicion I’m not the only middle-aged man who suffers delusions in this direction. In the old days, maturity was something young men aspired to acquire as quickly as possible. Today, it’s a curse to be warded off indefinitely with yoga classes, skin-care regimes, even Botox or surgery. Plus jeans, of course. And T-shirts. And the new Lana Del Rey album: did I mention how much we’re all liking that?