Ding dong, Hormones calling

I never thought I would blog about menopause, but forgive me if I have a few minutes giggling at myself. I have decided, as I hurtle towards the oncoming juggernaut, to put my foot to the pedal and swerve at the last possible moment. My theory is that the adrenaline rush might just overwhelm the hot flushes.

Now, I don’t know about you other gals out there, but I don’t sweat, I BURN. I have a temporary blast of foundry heat inside my upper torso, like I imagine a blacksmith does as he leans into a fire, or a baker as he scrapes out the back batch of loaves.

Then there are the dizzy headaches and the dizzy memory. Spatial and emotional disorientation – not to mention spectacle disorientation; as in “where are my blooming glasses?”

I seem to be twisting my ankle every other week – nothing to do with the gin and tonics on the balcony, or the manic dance I do every time I stand on one leg to put on trousers.

My centre of gravity has shifted, so that walking and jogging after the cat has morfed into a flat footed waddle which threatens my other ankle.

I can’t wear heels any more because the dizzy headache gives me temporary vertigo and it’s difficult to balance the gin glass when chasing the cat up a 1 in 5 gradient driveway.

Please tell me that old age is funnier.