Last week I turned a young 52. I say young, because I don’t feel old, and people (generally) don’t consider me old. Sure, I have senior moments when I walk into a room and can’t remember why I went in there in the first place. My hair is more gray than brown now; my skin is a little bit confused because it is still prone to breakouts in amongst the crow’s feet. My body, though, is strong from running and weights, and I’m only carrying a smallish spare tyre around my waist, caused (no doubt) by my penchant for chocolate. While
Continue reading...And what have you done? Another year over, and a new one just begun. ~ John Lennon A month or so ago, I turned 50. I didn’t have a “milestone party”. Instead, I spent it in a beautiful part of Turkey, doing what I love: travelling and taking photographs. But turning 50 deserves some sort of recognition, applause even. After all, not everyone makes it this far. In some countries, 50 is considered positively ancient because life expectancy and outlook is so poor. But I’ve talked about the lottery of location previously, so won’t belabour that point here. Western cultures
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