Hurrah! I’m having a hip op

WELL, it all finally caught up with me — all those years of dashing everywhere, dancing on tables, standing for hours cooking supper for crowds, carousing with fellow journalists, trawling art galleries and museums, picking up children and grandchildren.

The day after writing this, I shall have hip surgery. You can’t power on forever without bits getting worn out. My daughter and daughter-in-law have kindly packed a bag of well-chosen goodies for me (small dry shampoo, scented things, Psychologies magazine etc).

Most of us tend to take health for granted. When I was younger there wasn’t nearly so much information, but nowadays there’s no excuse for not being aware. Everything in moderation is my new watchword.

I confess that in the past I went in for excess and have been known to stay up until dawn, drinking and smoking. I was a wild woman then; life is quieter now, but I don’t regret a thing.

Recently, I’ve been rueful about aches and pains, walking with a limp (not a good look) and not being able to wear my high heels.

So now (like many of you) I must come to terms with a period of enforced ‘grounding’, punctuated by lots of physiotherapy, which I shall find boring.

And my husband will have to help me undress (not in a good way, ladies, not in a good way!) and cook all the meals, which will make me chafe, since I’m a kitchen control freak.

But I’m looking forward to wearing heels again (although I’ll probably swap cougars for kittens), slinging my leg over the back of our Harley-Davidson to ride with Robin, and dancing at a charity ball this June.

This column won’t be here next week, because I need a bit of time to get used to things.

But keep those letters coming and feel free to write ‘Dear Hopalong’ because I shan’t mind a bit.