When I first started writing, I was delighted by all the positive reviews about older protagonists. There weren’t enough of them. Evie Gallagher in A Grand Old Time was seventy five. Nanny Basham in The Age of Misadventure was older. The Five French Hens were in their seventies.

Then an anonymous negative comment on social media took me by surprise.

She writes her characters like they are about forty.

I wasn’t sure what that meant. That my characters still had the ability to speak, move, interact, laugh, fall in love, make mischief? That they didn’t all have arthritis and Zimmer frames? That some of them even had a few teeth left?

I burst out laughing.

We all agree that there’s too much prejudice in the world. Racism, sexism, homophobia are truly appalling. Let’s stamp it out.

The same is true of ageism, but often ageist attitudes slip through the net. So this blog post is dedicated, as a roll call, to many of the older people who inspire me every day.

I know lots of women in their sixties who, just like my critic said, seem ‘about forty.’ They look young, they have energy, they are brainy, zany and great fun to hang out with. They are superfab. Some of them are younger, some older than sixty. Friends are friends. I don’t count their wrinkles. Enough said.

And I know so many men in their sixties who are bright, good fun and hunky. They are fit, magnetic and wonderful to spend time with. Some are older than sixty, some younger. But they’d give Brad Pitt a run for his money. Oh – he’s sixty, is he? Johnny Depp then. Oh, he’s sixty too? Mick Jagger then? Eighty? But he dances on stage for hours…Well, there you go.

I know a woman in her seventies who looks a million dollars in sweeping velvet dresses and teaches writing. I know several more who are in their seventies who write books and make me laugh. I know another woman in her late eighties who dresses in hotpants and strims her garden hedge with so much energy she’d put someone half her age to shame.

Another woman in her late seventies came for a hike in the snow with me recently. She’s super fit, super bright, gorgeous and fab company. I know a dapper gentleman in his eighties who is a successful business man who jumps on a plane to travel around the world constantly. I know another who is nothing short of a hero, who writes incredible memoirs of his amazing life. I know an incredibly bright couple in their sixties who could easily be mistaken for much younger if they bothered to spend time worrying about it, which they don’t. A genius film maker who’s a brilliant musician and is sixty something going on eighteen. And there’s a man in his nineties who tends a great garden full of organic veggies and fruit. Inspirational.

Yes, these people inspire me. They aren’t old people. They are Alice, Pete, Joe and Mary and Kate and Frank and Susie and Lofty. (All names made up of course.) They are artists and engineers and writers and poets, doctors and farmers and builders and adventurers. They are the impetus behind my characters. The characters I create are not them, but they show me constantly that older people in my books can be fascinating, bright, flawed, sexy, fun and fabulous.

We should look beyond the number of years. Helen Mirren is seventy eight. David Attenborough is ninety eight. Think about Joan Collins, Morgan Freeman, Paul McCartney… they are all over eighty.

So let’s not be too bothered about how old someone is. Or how young, for that matter. Let’s celebrate life now, the fun of it, the joy of being with such incredible people, whatever their age – it doesn’t define them.

And to the person who made the comment about my old characters behaving like they are forty, I’ll just say stop it. Get a life. I mean that nicely.

Because life is too short to get hung up on prejudice of any kind. Nuff said.