I’m not usually one for paying attention to modern aphorisms, sayings, affirmations (you see, they aren’t even formed enough to fit into or constitute a discrete category). I tend to lob them all in a big mental bin labelled “live, laugh, oh f**k off” and go about my day.

But last week, the algorithm, possibly aware – in that malevolent, profoundly disturbing way it has – that my birthday – in that malevolent, profoundly disturbing way it has – is approaching, recently delivered unto me a random person’s random thought that has crept under my defences like a burr under a vest.

Yes, despite it being printed in a handwriting font across a windswept coastal landscape, I have been unable to stop cogitating upon the following would-be adage (or maxim? Apercu? HELP ME): “Mid-life is just becoming who you were again at 16 but loving her this time.”

Now, in some ways I hope that this is simply a new and temporary vulnerability to guff. Another twist in the perimenopausal rollercoaster. Hormones go haywire, you go a bit mad, they settle, you are restored. Life’s rich pattern and HRT patches, innit.

On the other hand – I think this piece of guff might actually be just…........

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