Lying about my age is the only logical option

IHAVEN’T lied about my age since I was trying to get into pubs at 17 but it was my birthday last week and for some reason in the run-up to it, I had the strongest urge to pull a Benjamin Button. Lying about your age, or being coy about it, is not uncommon. A friend excises a few years on a dating profile, reasoning that people view a fortysomething woman differently than a fifty-something woman. I just wonder how that pans out if you start a relationship, do you keep up the lie? Or is there an age reveal? Or will it slip, will you tell some story where it sounds like you left school at 12 instead of 17 or went interrailing with friends at 13 instead of 19? And will the person start to wonder what else you have lied about when they find out?

But the logic is there and within reason, lying about your age is getawayable with. It’s lies about height that are baffling because if you meet up, whatever about any other missing inches, the height ones will be instantly apparent.

Anyway, people lie about their age for many reasons but until now, I have never felt that urge. And, now that I do it’s not about lying to other people, it’s a bit late now, it is instead a strange urge to convince myself. I was confused as to why this was happening but then I discovered that science has an answer. Apparently it is proven that people who feel younger than their actual age are up to 50pc less likely to die within a given time frame than people who feel their age or older. So I reckon this is my brain’s response to this increasingly mortal-feeling coil.

Ergo to hell with chronology, from now until further notice,, I’m 49.