I'm just back from France where the family were celebrating my father's ninetieth birthday. I am well aware how lucky I am to still have my Dad as I approach sixty. He remains as healthy and dogmatic as ever, still driving, taking regular exercise and, of course, insisting on an annual skiing holiday - yes! Once again, he took to the slopes, albeit with a few falls, and has not entirely ruled out returning next year.
As we drove home with my eldest niece, there was a ninety year old, a near sixty year old and a thirty year old in the car. Not surprisingly, I have been thinking about age recently. What I learn from my father is that you do not ned to let age define you, you can define yourself. What I learn from my niece is that all that I hoped for the generation of girls I helped educate is possible if they too refuse to let others define their limits.
What about me in the middle? Well, I couldn't feel less like someone approaching sixty. I intend to bag another fifty plus Munros this year and I'm going to keep writing the books I would want to read, even if that means I never get an agent or a traditional publishing contract! Not that I'm going to stop trying.
If anyone would like a free copy of the anthology of short fiction which includes my story inspired by the Chandos Portrait of Shakespeare, then take look on Amazon this weekend for Masterworks - historical short fiction inspired by works of art at
