There have been several signs this week that I am edging ever closer towards old age.

First of all, there was my birthday. I won’t reveal my age, because I can hardly bear to reveal it to myself, but let’s just say my earliest memories are a blur of the Bay City Rollers, power cuts, Crimpoline flares and Instant Whip.

When you reach a certain age, your birthday becomes less of a celebration and more a stark reminder of all the things on life’s bucket list that you really thought you’d have crossed off by now.

Still not paid off that credit card debt? Still not written that best-selling novel? Still not taken up pilates? Still not been whisked away on a surprise mini-break to Florence?

Then there was the whole business of switching car insurance, something I’d been putting off for, well, years. I finally got round to it yesterday, and managed to get more than £100 knocked off, but it was only when I found myself telling people about this that I realised how tediously middle-aged I’d become.

Why would anyone be remotely interested in my car insurance quotes? One colleague did say “yey, well done”, but that was probably because I’d brought birthday cake into the office.

Then I got a call from Yorkshire Water saying the leak that has quadrupled my water payments over the last six months isn’t external and easy-to-fix after all, as I’d previously been informed. Turns out it’s internal, and I need to get a plumber out to identify it and fix it – until then, I guess they’ll keep charging me more than a family of four would pay. There was a time when a water bill would’ve meant nothing to me; now it’s something else to keep me awake at night.

Yesterday, I interviewed a woman who asked how long I’d been a journalist, then said “No, let me guess. Twenty years, right?” Clearly, I no longer resemble the fresh-faced cub reporter I once was.

And when I picked up my car from its MOT, the garage man talked to me as if I actually understood what he was saying; a sure sign for a woman that she’s no longer seen as a young bit of stuff who knows nothing about cars.

But for all these signs of middle-age, I wouldn’t swap places with a youth right now. My teenage niece sat the first of 21 exams yesterday, and has a gruelling couple of months ahead. I remember it well. I may be old, with aching limbs and unfulfilled dreams, but at least I never have to draw up another revision timetable.