Several years ago I received a birthday card, which had, on its front page, a picture of the wicked queen in the story of Snow White. Exquisitely dressed and with beautiful black hair, the Queen is asking the mirror in her boudoir: “Mirror Mirror on the wall, who is the youngest-looking of them all?”
Inside the card, the mirror replies: “Cliff Richard”.
I have two mirrors in my flat and when I look into them, I see the same face I’ve been seeing since my twenties, but this is obviously an illusion. I have been mistaken for my man friend’s mother too many times and too many women have offered me their seats on buses.
So it’s about time I grew old gracefully.