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1. The wonderful Day of the Dead celebrations are happening from 12 pm at Colombia Rd this Saturday. I recommend, I went last year. There is a procession, a marching band, stalls and great outfits. Go dressed up if you can. I am going with my grandson.

2. Philip Tracey in W magazine. Of course he knows all about hats. I love a good hat or headdress even. Philip Treacy knows the power of a fabulous hat. “The great misconception is that you need confidence to wear them. Actually, a beautiful hat gives you confidence,” he says. Thirty-five years after Isabella Blow first introduced him to Karl Lagerfeld, the legendary milliner has created some of fashion’s most unforgettable headpieces for everyone from Alexander McQueen and Queen Camilla to Pierpaolo Piccioli at Balenciaga and Jonathan Anderson at Dior. For W’s Originals portfolio, Treacy looks back on the people, shows, and royal occasions that shaped his career—and explains why hats remain a form of rebellion.’

3. It must be a theme. Look at and her husband at the Fabulous Forever photo booth at Rebel Later Life: the ideas party looking absolutely fantastic. Great photos by Peter Wallis. And I’ve got that red flower and intend to wear it to a party soon.

4. Article in the Guardian. What a couple! Tim and Geli Harris - he's 79 and held a senior position in shipping and then they bought a farm in Norfolk - have spent a lot of money trying to protect their land from the pollutants that drain across from a neighbouring farm. Taking Natural England - the name is obviously a misnomer - to court to stop their legislative inertia. The inertia is causing the death of our wild life which is in crisis. This is happening everywhere ie rivers and land and good on them for pressurising Natural England to do what they should be doing anyway. More checks, more grassland barriers between farms using pollutants and other land etc..

5. Gabby Jimenez is a remarkable end of life doula and hospice nurse. Here she talks about her last words to people in her care before they die. ‘My last words to someone who is dying are often simple, but never small. “I’ve got you.” I say it softly, with my hand in theirs or resting gently on their shoulder. I want them to know that they are not alone. Not now. Not in this moment that can feel so unknown, so final. I want them to feel held, not just physically, but emotionally, and spiritually. To know that someone is bearing witness. That someone is walking them to the very edge and not turning away.

   As they take their final breath, I stay. I whisper goodbye, and I thank them… for their trust, their courage, and for allowing me into such an intimate chapter of their story. It’s an honor I don’t take lightly. These moments change me. Every time. And no matter how many times I’ve done this, it never becomes routine. It’s sacred. Always.’

6. This camp without camping sounds great. Lots of dancing The Dances of Universal Peace. What actually happens at Camp Without Camping? Christalla is in AofA. Here’s what they say.
   
   ’Well, first of all, nobody has to sleep in a tent!
   We wanted to recreate something of the atmosphere of living together in community at the camps—not only dancing and practising together, but sharing meals, making music, lingering over conversations, laughing and enjoying all the ordinary moments that allow connections to deepen. But with rather more warmth, comfort and care—which feels especially important in November!
   
   The Dances of Universal Peace will be at the heart of the weekend, with dance leaders and musicians sharing their experience and inspiration.
   
   It won’t be nonstop dancing. There will also be embodied Sufi practices, walks in the beautiful Derbyshire countryside, shared meals, rest and plenty of time simply to be together.
   The programme will be partly planned and partly shaped by the people who come. There’s no expectation that you need to lead or contribute—coming to dance and be part of the circle is more than enough.
   
   To those of you that haven't come across the Dances of Universal Peace before, I cant recommend them highly enough, and I encourage you to come and give them a go. You don't need to worry about what to do, the movements are super simple and we use mantric chants from the various different spiritual traditions. Each dance is taught in the moment it's shared, so no experience is necessary. A dance lasts about 15 mins and takes you on an inner journey, eliciting state change without the use of recreational drugs!
   
   Friday 6–Sunday 8 November 2026 The Nightingale Centre, near Buxton
   Everyone is warmly welcome, including friends and family.
   
   Find out more and book your place: https://docs.google.com/.../1FAIpQLSfvvRrh6AS.../viewform...
   
   With love, Christalla Demetriades (and all the members of the Guidance Panel: Christina Gulzar Lausevic, Robert Salik Orange, Jackie Singer, Rowan Brook-Thompson our amazing admin & Ruth Ochsmann our wonderful Pastoral care officer)’.

I spend a lot of my life talking about death. Not because I am morbid, far from it. Not because I am obsessed with dying. And certainly not because I think we should spend our lives worrying about when or how they will end.

I talk about death because I think acknowledging it can help us live.

For over 13 years, I have worked alongside people who are dying, people who are grieving and families trying to navigate one of the most significant experiences of their lives. I am a Soul Midwife (end-of-life companion) a funeral celebrant and death educator. I train professionals in end-of-life care, communication, faith and spirituality. I host Dying for a Cuppa® The Podcast. I speak at conferences, work with families and spend a great deal of time trying to make conversations about death feel far less scary and much more human.

But I didn’t begin my working life anywhere near death and dying. For years, I worked in fashion retail. I was surrounded by targets, performance, and sales figures.

Then, in 2016, my personal life changed and I entered the world of end-of-life care, Random plot twist but one meant to be.

I trained as a Soul Midwife and began working for St Catherine’s Hospice, eventually spending eight years within the Hospice at Home team. There is something extraordinary about being invited into someone’s home at the end of their life.

The things we spend so much time worrying about suddenly become less important. What matters is surprisingly simple: comfort, familiarity, safety. Having somebody there, hearing a familiar voice, being able to say what needs to be said or being allowed to say nothing at all.

Sometimes my work has involved conversations, laughter and or tears. Sometimes it involves sitting quietly. One of the things death has taught me is that we don’t always need to fix things.

As human beings, we are incredibly uncomfortable with situations we cannot solve. We want to make things better, say the ‘right’ words and we want to take pain away. Death asks something different of us, it asks us simply to be.

That is at the heart of Soul Midwifery for me. It isn’t about imposing beliefs or telling somebody what their death should look like. It is about meeting the person in front of you, exactly where they are. Their beliefs. Their fears. Their hopes. Their family. Their life. Their death.

The strange thing is that death is one of the few experiences that connects every single one of us, and yet many of us reach adulthood knowing remarkably little about it. We understand birth. We prepare for it, attend classes, read books, discuss choices, learn what might happen physically, we talk about pain relief and where somebody wants to give birth.

Yet at the other end of life, there is often enormous silence. Many people don’t know what a naturally dying body can look like. They don’t know that somebody may naturally stop eating or that drinking may reduce. They don’t know why our breathing changes, that consciousness alters and that someone may sleep for increasingly long periods.

And when we don’t understand something, it can become frightening.

A family can be witnessing something completely natural, but because nobody has explained it to them, they can feel like something is going horribly wrong. That is one of the many reasons, education has become such a huge part of what I do.

Knowledge doesn’t remove grief, but it can remove some of the fear. There is an enormous difference between witnessing something frightening and witnessing something you understand.

We have also medicalised death enormously. Of course, medicine has an essential place. Good symptom management, palliative care and clinical expertise matter deeply. But a person who is dying is still a person. They are more than their diagnosis. They may still be a mother, father, partner, grandparent, friend, colleague, atheist, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Humanist, spiritual seeker, football fan, gardener, dog lover, storyteller or somebody who wants everyone to stop fussing and just put the kettle on.

End-of-life care has to make space for all of that and truly person-centred care means being curious.

What matters to you? What brings you comfort? What are you frightened of? What do you believe happens when we die? Is there anything you need to say or hear? Would you like a cuppa?

It sounds almost ridiculously simple, but these ordinary human interactions matter. Death doesn’t always need whispering voices, solemn faces and euphemisms. There can be laughter, stories, music, swearing, silence. There can be love.

-

My work eventually led me into funeral celebrancy, which gave me another new perspective on our relationship with death. I had spent years supporting people towards death. Now I was meeting more of the people left behind.

A funeral is an extraordinary moment. You are attempting to take an entire human life, sometimes decades of relationships, mistakes, adventures, habits, jobs, family stories, personality and love, and somehow honour it in less than an hour.

I don’t believe funerals need to follow a particular formula. I do believe they need to feel like the person.

That can mean traditional ritual and prayer. It can mean no religion whatsoever. It can mean humour, unusual music, stories that make people laugh and colourful outfits.

Because grief isn’t one emotion at one time. We can be devastated and grateful. Heartbroken and relieved. We can cry and laugh within seconds of each other. We can deeply care about someone and acknowledge that they could be incredibly difficult. Death does not suddenly make somebody perfect.

One of the greatest privileges of being a celebrant is being trusted with the truth of somebody’s life.

-

Perhaps the biggest thing my work has taught me is that conversations about death are far easier when we have them BEFORE we need them. Many people have never told those closest to them what they would want if they became ill or died.

Would you want to be at home? Who would you trust to speak for you? What matters to you spiritually? Would you want a funeral? Burial or cremation? What music would you absolutely not want anyone to play?

These conversations don’t have to happen formally with everybody terrified. They can happen naturally in the car, walking the dog, over dinner or simply a cuppa.

That idea became the foundation of Dying for a Cuppa®. What started as a way of making death education accessible has grown into training, resources, professional development and a podcast reaching listeners around the world.

The principle underneath it all remains very simple: We need to make death part of ordinary conversation again.

There is also another conversation wrapped around death that I think we desperately need to have, and that is ageing. Our culture so often treats ageing as something to resist. Stay younger. Look younger. Act younger. Hide the evidence that you have lived! Yet the people I have met approaching the end of their lives have taught me something very different.

Age carries stories, bodies carry histories. The lines, scars and changes are evidence of having been here, of having lived, loved, lost, survived and grown.

Perhaps ageing also gives us permission to start asking different questions. Not simply what can I achieve but what actually matters to me? Who matters? What do I want the rest of my life to feel like? What do I want to leave behind?

Because legacy isn’t necessarily money, property or something with your name engraved on it. It can be a recipe, a family joke, a handwritten letter, the story everyone has heard a hundred times, or simply the way somebody felt when they were with you.

People often assume that working so closely with death must be depressing. It isn’t. It can be sad and emotionally demanding, of course, but death has actually made me far more conscious of life.

It reminds me that time isn’t guaranteed, not in a doom-laden live every day as if it’s your last kind of way. Sometimes living means sitting in your pyjamas, watching rubbish television and eating toast. I mean something quieter.

Notice your life. Say the thing. Make the phone call. Tell your people you love them. Stop saving everything for best. Have the conversation, no matter how difficult.

And perhaps become a little less frightened of saying the word death.

Katie Costello runs End of Life Support Services and is a multi award winning Soul Midwife, funeral celebrant and CPD accredited death educator. She is also the author of A Gift – Part Funeral Plan, Part Life Story, Part Love Letter.

www.katiesoulmidwife.com

🎧 Dying for a Cuppa® The Podcast on Spotify | Apple | Amazon

1. I love the sound of this talk and I have signed up to the online version. ‘Explore the modern reimagining of the Hag, a powerful goddess rooted in folklore, through film and fiction. Followed by Q&A.

   The Hag, a sensual, powerful, older sovereignty goddess, has recently resurged in contemporary culture, from movies like “Weapons” or “Hokum” to books by Sharon Blackie and Manchán Magan. But where does this figure originate from? What is her significance in terms of our collective past, present and future? How does she speak to our contemporary anxieties?

   Join author and researcher Dr Tracy Fahey for a deep dive into the backstory of the Hag, or Cailleach, and explore her complex character revealed through folklore. Long reduced to a symbol of fear or ridicule, the Hag is now being reclaimed as a figure of power, transformation, wisdom, and resistance. Drawing on folk tales, film, and contemporary media, this talk will explore the Hag’s complex and ambiguous nature, and how she has become deeply tied to questions of ageing, femininity, nature, and power.

   Doors open at 7pm, talk starts at 7:30pm - come down early to grab a good seat!

   Follow us on IG @seedtalks

   Speaker Bio:

   Dr Tracy Fahey is an Irish author and academic. Fahey holds a PhD in the Gothic and lectures in creative writing, folk horror and contemporary Gothic at the Limerick School of Art and Design, TUS. Her writing has been awarded the Rubery International Book Award, the Paul Cave Prize for Literature, and a Saari Fellowship from the Kone Foundation. Fahey has been ALSO a keynote speaker, presenter and panellist at conferences, symposia and conventions in Ireland, the UK, the US and more. Fahey’s recent writing explores the intersection between female folklore and midlife anxieties, such as They Shut Me Up (PS Publishing 2023, shortlisted for a British Fantasy Award), Queens of the Crone Age (2026, PS Publishing) and Women Changing (2027, Fly On The Wall Press).’

2. Great news. Nan Goldin is going to be back in London in the shape of an exhibition You Never Did Anything Wrong at the Hayward from Nov 24th. ‘Nan Goldin returns to London.

   Her first UK institutional exhibition since 2002 brings together iconic photography and powerful moving-image works spanning five decades of her life and practice – from her intimate documentation of queer culture, relationships and addiction to her more recent work.

   Named one of The Guardian’s best art and architecture exhibitions of autumn 2026.’

3. i-paper report. We always get excited when we hear of this kind of arrangement. It brings hope to a bleak arena. ‘Helpful Housemates is a firm that finds lodgers for people such as Anthea, who have space and may be looking for help in the house

   “Living here is benefiting my soul and wellbeing and mental health – you can’t put a price on those things,” says Jadav.’

   

   4. I didn’t know this - grief and bereavement is now on the curriculum at schools.

   ‘This week on Dying for a Cuppa®, I’m welcoming back my friend and regular guest, John, Past President of the National Association of Funeral Directors and someone who has spent years advocating for change within the world of death, dying and bereavement.

   John lost his mum when he was just 12 years old, and that experience has played a huge part in his determination to improve how we support and educate children when it comes to death and grief.

   And now, after years of campaigning, we’re seeing some really important changes.

   From September 2026, grief and bereavement education is being introduced into the school curriculum in England, and John joins me to explain what this means, why it matters and how it may look for children in primary and secondary schools.

   We talk about why children deserve honest, compassionate and age-appropriate conversations about death, and why waiting until a child experiences a bereavement simply isn’t good enough.

   John also shares how this work is attracting interest internationally, including in Australia and New Zealand, and talks about the resources available to help schools and families.

   He has also cowritten a book, Don’t Tell the Children with Clare Shaw Children’s Books .

   You can also find John’s own podcast, DACI Death, a Changing Industry, where he continues to challenge conversations and advocate for change.

   I’m incredibly proud to call John my friend, and so grateful that he continues to give his time to these conversations.

   Whether you’re a parent, grandparent, teacher or simply someone who believes we need to do better for our children, please do give this one a listen.’

   

   5. Women in Art featured this powerful image from the Depression era in the US.

   ‘Dorothea Lange’s photograph “Stenographer with Mended Stockings,” taken in San Francisco in 1934 and printed in the 1950s, captures a moment of resilience and vulnerability during the Great Depression. The image portrays a young woman, her mended stockings symbolizing both her struggle and determination.

   Lange’s ability to convey deep human emotion and social commentary through her work highlights the challenges faced by individuals during this tumultuous era, making it a poignant reflection of the time.’

6. Delighted that Andy Goldsworthy’s Fifty Years won the Sky Arts Award for Visual Art.

I have been walking towards my own line in the sand, possibly at some level since my very first breath. As I write these words, I am about three weeks away from my sixty-eighth birthday. I have an idea, knowing it will be jarring for some, that starting my own VSED (Voluntarily Stopping Eating and Drinking) process on October 5th 2027 would be an unequivocal birthday gift to myself.

That is a little over one more year.
That does feel like the right note in my blood, bones and heart.

Studying VSED - like my life depended on it - has been my focus over the last two months. I have done a self-directed micro PHD that has included reading every personal testimony I could find, and researching across the board. It is extraordinary to find so little awareness and information. The most lovely and useful resource I have found, and been so fruitfully in contact with is called talkvsed.org.uk

They are an impressive UK based organisation that raises awareness about VSED and provides information to people considering this lawful choice, those close to them and all the relevant health professionals.

I have spent much of the last decade under the impression the only option I have available to me on arriving at being done is to retreat into an empty room, having made sure no-one I know and love holds any specific time and date information about my intention.

Caroline’s broken things creations

The counterpoint to that - is everyone I know, love and am loved by - does know my intention. What’s more, all those people have continued to offer me understanding, and have declined to argue with my reasoning. That is a beautiful thing that I have leaned into over many years.

Right now, in real time, I am experiencing a profound sense of relief, of space opening up inside my chest. My breath has softened. I have wept an ocean or two, not because it feels wrong, but because seeing this alternative option that allows for a home-based death plan, being held, being accompanied, and maybe getting to fully relinquish the self-holding on that has underpinned all of my years.

I’d like to die like that.

Everyone I have talked to about this end-of-life option so far, has had an initial flinch. I think I had it myself because it is the only possible explanation for being so long standing in death literacy, yet never having walked up close to VSED and unpacked the detail.

Caroline and Leonard

That flinch is visceral in a human nervous system. The idea at first glance of death via starvation and dehydration is grim. Hence the flinch. The narrative of the flinch is something like, jeez, that sounds like a desperate last resort and gross. I agree that it does sound like that, and then on investigation it unfolds into a ritual manner of dying that is infused with connection, intimacy, agency and love. To have such a death requires a thoughtful death-plan in exactly the same way a birth-plan can hold a human being born. It is worth noting that my direct experience of being on the frontline of both a birth and a death showed me that the border between coming into embodied life with a first breath, and slipping away with the final out breath, is exactly the same place.

I am going to tell you what I’ve learned.

Firstly, the British Medical Association (BMA) published a thirty-six page document in August of this year (2026). This is written for medical professionals, but is straightforward and fully readable by lay people. If you would like to read this paper, the link below will take you to a PDF you can download.

https://cdn.intelligencebank.com/eu/share/qMbw14/VeKGa/w1KnG/original/BMA+Ethics+guidance+Caring+for+patients+who+elect+to+VSED2

It sets out the good practice for treating any patient wanting to either plan their own VSED, or anyone giving the option serious consideration. It is clear about the legality regarding good medical practice in taking any patient that is of sound mental capacity, both seriously and respectfully. It states that if a GP has conscientious objections that make it impossible to support such a patient, they are obliged to pass that patient to a doctor who is willing and able to work with them.

A person wishing to plan their VSED does not require a terminal illness diagnosis, nor a degenerative organic condition. It makes provision for someone such as myself, that is suffering with unspeakable pain, with nothing in terms of treatment options except for failing pain management.

I had not understood quite how lonely my end-of-life plan felt until a door opened and showed me another way. I had been completely unaware there was another option, and given the option has been sitting there all the time - this is a touch comedic. Some of the tears that have been pouring like tropical rain over these short weeks have been grief meeting relief. I don’t need to hold myself alone all the way through. I don’t need to die in an empty room with my head on my own shoulder in the silence of that. I’m saying I didn’t even know how much that pained me until VSED opened up a very different kind of room.

Some of you know how much I enjoy dreaming up a ritual, and this will be my last, so there is a quiet delight happening in my thoughts and feelings. I’ve already started interior designing my front room as a departure lounge, and, it seems that can co-exist with still hitting the walls of overwhelm from the banal and brutal pain that never lets up.

VSED is something that requires planning, collaboration with your GP at ground zero, and through that doorway to home based palliative care.

Some hospices are willing to support an in-house VSED, and in theory it should be able to happen in a hospital, though for obvious reasons that is the setting that lends itself least to such a particular ritual.

Mostly people want to do this at home.
I want to do this at home.

I have had my closing appointment with my GP of 35 years. There were tears. There was also an opportunity for me to tell this very dear person, who has heard me over many years speak about my ‘when I’m done’ plan, that I had fallen through a doorway that had been there all the time. I asked her to put my intention and the (BMA) document front and centre into my impeccable handover. I have my first appointment with Doctor A in several weeks, and will bring VSED in as the start point. I have no idea what her views will be, but I trust myself as a skilful communicator, and if she has reservations, I will not take an adversarial position. I’ll do my utmost to help her understand my position and ask her to support me.

Filmmaker, Andrew is one of her village

I don’t have a main person in my life. I have a village that actually spans the globe. Sometimes, as a very happy occupant of both my internal and external home address, that is just me, a three-legged black panther called Bebe, and the infamous Leonard the Dog - sometimes, particularly as pain and disability has become more hardcore, I have felt lonely in the simple nuts and bolts of having to manage all the logistics on my own. That does not mean I wish I had a housemate or a partner. I am simply not built for that much proximity. I love depth contact and then space between. No problem to solve here.

However in the death-planning - I realise I don’t have a singular person I can ask to hold the frame of a ritual, that while being deeply curated and created by me, will at some point in the process become the thing that holds me, rather than something I can keep on holding.

This is my cradle, and I am going to find two death-wives to hold it for me. I haven’t worked that out yet, but shape is coming into focus not through applying thought; much more as creative process has always shown itself, if cooking, making poems, or playing with broken things in my shed.

I think I need two people. I think it is a job-share.

VSED usually takes 10 - 14 days. It does depend somewhat on how organically well or unwell you are at the start point. One thing that is crucial throughout will be mouth - care. Spraying the inside of the mouth, the use of sponge mouth swabs, damp, soft flannels and small ice chips can all help. Lip salves, as well as gentle moisturising creams for drying skin is a kindness. All the little details that in my reading the personal stories of those that have helped a loved one with their VSED, are both illuminating and touching.

My intention is to be well prepared before I step into this ritual. I stand here on the shoreline of holding the whimsy of my sixty-ninth birthday in my open palms. That is just over a year away. I want to begin to prepare my body from here, so it is gentle and kind, taking the slow road that is always my road. My eating is disordered because my medication killed my appetite. Eating has become a chore that I’m currently not doing very well at and I want to get better. I have generous time to get better.

In the month before my start date - I will take expert advice on how to help my body prepare to stop eating and drinking. I imagine a light and clean menu for those weeks, and I am already clear about ceasing to eat solid food several days in advance. This is in part to ease in, and equally because I want an empty colon up front. I am not going to be filling my departure lounge with medical equipment. I know how it goes with pads and diapers, and I’m okay with that. I’m just clear I don’t want any poo in the equation. I’ve done the reading, and if you go in empty of anything solid requiring digesting, it can be very simple at the gastrointestinal level.

As you can see - I am both in the poetry and the nitty-gritty of building my death plan.

I will make my room beautiful.
I will find two earthbound angels to hold me so I can lay my head down.
I will have a fully functioning collaboration with any medical support I need.

That is the structure and form.

Alongside that is my open door and invitation to anyone at all that wants to pass through my ritual.

An unequivocal invite with no conditions - come by, stay for a moment or a while, bring anything at all that lives in you (obviously no food, vino or normative guest type offerings!). Just your presence, your irreverence, your comedy, your heart… it will be a room where it is literally impossible to get it wrong or even right, and that translates as freedom and infinite space. Even though the actual physical room has walls, the ritual itself has none.

Painting by or Asanga Judge which appears at the back of Caroline’s book, Postcards from a Little Life

Debbie Malynn from Thereafter Funerals and Victoria Keen from Poppy’s Funerals.

1. What a joy it was - to see this Rebel Later Life: the ideas party come to life in the way that we had envisioned. Fun, lots of stimulating conversations, connections, useful information on pensions, funerals, later life care, co-housing, relationships, cronehood, dating after 50, Sandwich generation, making money from something you love…. all colliding in a beautiful way in one building. It was all much more than we could have imagined. And so many women going home with Hello Nancy Lemons was another uplift. We have been inundated with positive feedback. And the volunteer team looking after everyone were amazing.

2. One of the conversations that came out of the conference was about care - for your parents, or for yourself? Are you planning it? Are you having that conversation with loved ones? ‘By 2065, nearly half the UK population will be over 50. The question of what we owe our parents is no longer a future problem - and most families are not having the conversation they need to.’ the i-paper.

3. Actor Brian Blessed has managed make 90! Wowee. May he carry on long beyond..

Photo by Emil Poniente

4. Poet, accidental academic and cleaner, Cathi Rae, who chaired our Ageism and Words panel has some sparky words to say about getting older. ‘I will always be just a little bit punk ...
   The fashion, politics and values were a huge part of my younger life and just because I'm in my 60s now doesn't mean they don't still inform how I live now.
   Ageing doesn't mean we're not still passionate about all sorts of stuff.
   Ageing doesn't mean that we're not still engaged and curious about the world.
   Ageing doesn't mean that we've given up the stuff that gives our life value and excitement.
   We are exactly the same vibrant and valid people as we were 10,20, 30 years ago.
   There is a strange assumption that people become more right wing, more conservative as they get older but on Saturday I was in a building with over 200 older people who were all curious and angry and passionate about all sorts of stuff and it was living proof that age doesn't have to diminish our determination to make change.
   And yes, I wore this outfit on Friday because as far as I know, shorts and tartan tights and an oversized men's suit jacket don't have age limits.
   I hope that the 17 year old me would have been a little bit proud although in fairness she would probably have rolled her eyes.’

5. This was in the i-paper. I totally agree with Judy Dench. Ban the word retirement.

6. The costumed Tiger Lilies. Is anyone going to see them in London on Nov 1st for their Day of the Dead performance? The crazily wonderful performances. My son chose Hell as one of his Desert Island Discs recently for his 40th. I love Autumn Leaves.

Caroline jumping for joy because she’s done it!

To enjoy the advantages of age to full advantage, it’s advantageous to be as healthy as possible – would you agree?

Aware that being overweight increases the likelihood of becoming ill in later life, I decided, in my late fifties, that I wanted to enter my sixties having lost the two-stone-too-much that had crept on over the years.

The day after my 58^th birthday I declared, “Right – I’ve two years to get the weight off and keep it off, so I can spring into my sixties feeling youthful – and not mind too much about the zero in my age.”

So I went on a big diet. And absolutely nothing happened. For a fortnight, the scales persisted in showing the same weight despite all my abstinences. So, on top of the virtuous things I was already doing (like cutting out sugar and wine and eating less in general), I started intermittent fasting (not eating after 6pm or before 10am). This two-pronged attack would surely work?

It did not. Well, I lost a couple of pounds, but they were boomerang-y pounds that were no sooner off than back on again. After a month, I’d lost two pounds, many times over – but they were those same two pounds.

So, having tried and failed, there was only one thing to do. Give up. Which I did until yet another dress wouldn’t zip up. Then recalling my vow, I tried again. And failed again.

The beloved belly!

At this point, I panicked – fearing I was doomed to get plumper and plumper, then diabetic – like my mum had, seriously compromising her health.

“I absolutely MUST lose weight,” I said to myself.

“But I CAN’T,” myself said back.

I must! I can’t! I must! I can’t! These voices were fighting in my head – and the trouble was, both were right.

There was a third voice. It went like this: “Phwoar – I love a belly – and your belly is the best.”

This wasn’t a voice in my head. It was a voice in my bed. The voice of my then-quite-new boyfriend. Although I’m not as guilty of this as I used to be, I’ve a tendency to bend and shape myself to please the man in my life. The slimmest I’ve ever been, was when dating a health-fanatic nutritionist 15 years ago. The plumpest I’d ever been – pregnancies excluded – was now, with this lovely belly-loving boyfriend.

“Thanks, but I’m not sure if I love my belly,” I told him, “And I worry it’ll keep getting bigger.”

“Oh – don’t actually get obese,” he said, sounding scared. “I’ve told girls in the past that I love their belly, then a few months later they’ve become quite horribly huge!”

The absurdity of this conversation galvanised me to strengthen my resolve. By now it was January – four months after my birthday self-promise, and along with a sizeable chunk of the population, I was making weight-loss-themed New Year resolutions.

So I tried and failed again – but this time, grace intervened with an epiphany. Instead of “I can’t do this,” the words I heard in my head were, “I can’t do this ALONE”. In a moment of clarity, I realised I needed outside help. “I’ll join one of those fat clubs like in Little Britain,” I decided with a shudder of grim determination.

Then fate intervened. Yes, it really was a very propitious week, with interventions from both grace and fate.

I was due to meet my friend Veronica for Sunday lunch in her neck of the woods. She asked if another friend, Catherine, could join us – and I agreed. “Great,” said Veronica. “Not sure if you’ve met her – she used to be really plump but now she’s really thin after joining Slimming World.”

I said I hadn’t met her but was excited to.

Fast forward 48 hours and Catherine (incredibly slim) is ordering an enormous Sunday roast with a side of extra potatoes. “It’s all free food with Slimming World,” she said without looking up from the menu – intuiting our raised eyebrows.

“Free?” I asked confused, as the menu clearly said £18.50.

“Yes – on my weight loss plan, ‘Free Food’ is a category of foods you can eat as much as you like of. Chicken, potatoes, parsnips, carrots, butternut squash, sprouts, red cabbage – it’s all free.

“I’ve seen their banner outside my local church,” said Veronica. “There’s a photo of a steaming bowl of spag bol – presumably, that’s free too?”

“Yup – we can have as much pasta and rice as we like,” said Catherine.

I thought this all sounded too do-able to be true. “So what can’t you eat?” I asked suspiciously.

“Well, the whole ethos is all about what you CAN have,” she said. “Healthy, wholesome food that you love. But nothing’s forbidden, as long as you write it down.

So that’s where I’d been going wrong. Who knew chocolate loses its calories if you make a note of having eaten it?

As if she overheard my sarcastic thought, Catherine explained:

“Nothing’s banned – but anything that’s not ‘free food’ or a ‘healthy extra’ is counted as a SWIP – short for Slimming World Individual Picks. SWIPs used to be called ‘Sins’ but that sounded too negative. I’m allowed up to 15 SWIPs a day – so I can have daily treats. A small glass of wine is about five SWIPs. Two Maltesers is one SWIP. A scoop of ice cream is about six – so you see, anything’s allowed but you must be very strict about writing down your SWIPs so you don’t exceed your daily ration.”

At this point, Catherine interrupted herself to ask a waiter for a side order of cauliflower cheese “for us all to share,” and said she’d SWIP her portion.

Then she continued explaining. “In the first month you keep a food diary and note down EVERYTHING that passes you lips and hand this into your coach. After four weeks, you’re clear about what you need to do to steadily lose one to two pounds per week.”

I’ve just realised this may be sounding like advertorial (an advertisement for Slimming World disguised as an article). I promise you it’s not! If I’m sounding evangelical, it’s because I’m so thrilled and I want to spread the word. I’m writing this because my friend Rose Rouse (co-founder of Advantage of Age), recently said I was looking slender. When I told her how come, she invited me to write a piece for AofA about my experience.

As you may have guessed, inspired by Catherine, I went home and immediately joined my local Slimming World group. That was six months ago, and since then, I’ve lost 22lbs (just over a stone and a half). Whoo-hoo!

Illustration by Caroline.

I’m six lbs away from my target and I’ll keep attending the weekly weigh-ins until I reach it. I enjoy the group – the positivity is a real mood booster. We’re awarded a metallic-embossed certificate and an inspiring fridge magnet every time we lose half a stone – and I feel prouder of these trophies than a kid who’s been good at the dentist! We’re never ‘shamed’ in the weeks when we’ve maintained or gained weight – but we’re praised for the weight we lose (everyone claps). There’s even a ‘Slimmer of the Week’ prize. We all bring along an item of healthy food (a bunch of bananas, a can of chickpeas or tomatoes etc) to donate – and the Slimmer of the Week takes home the whole lot. It’s fun!

Does the element of friendly competition help? Definitely – because really, you’re competing with yourself to beat your personal best and reach your target weight.

Does the accountability help – having a weekly weigh-in with your coach as witness? Absolutely. I often resist the temptation to nibble something inadvisable, because the joy and celebration of having lost another pound is more desirable than the fleeting pleasure the nibble will bring.

One of the niftiest things about Slimming World is the barcode scanner in the app. If you’re in a supermarket and wondering how many SWIPs a food contains, you can scan it and the app shows “2 SWIPs per 100g” or “FREE food” hopefully. I also love the HiFi bars (short for hi fibre). These are yummy, individually-wrapped biscuit bars in different flavours (peanut, chocolate, cherry etc) and you’re allowed two a day as a ‘healthy extra’. I carry a couple as handbag treats to have with coffee when I’m out.

Now they’re both doing it

The best thing about Slimming World, of course, is that it works. When the pounds started slipping off, I thought, “It’s a miracle!” But Slimming World says ‘it’s science’. The plan is based on scientific concepts of energy density and satiety (how full a food makes you feel), alongside some clever behaviour change psychology.

So… Does the boyfriend miss the belly? No. In fact, he decided to lose his own! Inspired by my success, he recently joined Slimming World himself. After a bit of a rocky start (you actually do need to follow the rules for it to work) he was 3.5lbs down at his most recent weigh-in – and was chuffed to be awarded Slimmer of the Week!

1. Yep, our first ever conference is this weekend. And we can’t wait. The photo above is of our Awards 2025 and really Rebel Later Life: the ideas party came out of the warm and wonderful glow of the awards. We realised how members of the Advantages of Age loved to meet, and were curious about what they all did. From the All Ages Project in Hackney to The …

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Rebel Later Life: the ideas party – why did Suzanne Noble and I call our first ever conference this?

Rebel conjures up armed resistance and of course, we will not be armed except with words and ideas around how we can age in way that i…

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1. Only 8 days to go until our first ever conference. Lynne Franks is our brilliant key note speaker. Lynne is 78 and still very much in change-the-world-for-women mode! ‘I’m excited to announce that I will be kicking off the Rebel Later Life: The Ideas Party with my new talk - “Who am I going to be when I Grow up?”

   An inspiring day for over 50s reminding u…

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The Coachies - what a bunch…

Leaving Parkway station in Bristol at approximately ten minutes past ten in the morning. It probably would have been ten am bang on but I managed to jinx that by having a problem with an Uber app which stop…

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1. Good to see these furious grandmothers are singing a furious version of House of The Rising Sun and demanding answers over the Jeffrey Epstein ranch obfuscation. From Music Man - ‘Wrapped in shawls, floral aprons, and extravagant hats, they look just like quintessential, harmless grandmothers. Yet behind that comforting image, the Santa Fe Raging Granni…

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The last time, I felt this way was when I wrote about private pensions. Not on my radar. Not in my economic vocabulary. Not, in this case, in my political vocabulary. I am a supporter of the NHS, the idea that health care is free and available equally at the point of delivery. At surgeries, at hospitals.

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1. Yes, Suzanne and I were on BBC Radio London at 2 40 last Tuesday talking all about our first conference, Rebel Later Life: the ideas party with lovely presenter Shay Kaur Grewal who was very excitable and informal at the same time. We talked about Words and Ageism, about why people like us need to know more about what’s available in the pension domain, …

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Name

John Spencer Williams

Age

60. Not sure how the hell that happened!

Where do you live?

Shoreditch – where I am the oldest hipster in town

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1 Very excited about Kevin Allen’s new job as a coach driver and operator. We’ve been waiting for someone to cotton on to the idea that there are a group of renegade oldsters who need entertaining. And sounds like the summer one was a hoot. So this is his Xmas trip to Torquay. I want to go.

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I’m getting in touch because I’d love to invite you to something very important to me, and that’s about how we look forward to getting older.

Rebel Later Life: The Ideas Party is a one-day event about reimagining our third quarter as a time of creativity, purpose, reinvention and opportunity.

It’s happening on 10th October at Cecil Sharp House in Camden, …

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Photo by Pete Lawrence

I’ve been wanting to go for years. There are cross-overs in terms of interests and people with Advantages of Age. Ten years ago, Nadia Chambers and Elizabeth Shanley – both members of AofA – went and then wrote a piece on Death and Dying that came from discussions at Camp Out. Pete Lawrence who founded this gathering, also founded …

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1. This is a brilliant piece in the Irish Times - an interview with Laurie Anderson who is so sparkling and raw and interesting in her responses. If I had a modern day heroine - which I don't - it would be Laurie Anderson at 79. She says so much great stuff in this int…

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Michele in Puccini with spillage

Not too long ago I rang my friend Esther, the only person I know sorta my age and sorta my size, but smaller than I am. I reckon she’s a size 4, which I used to be. I wanted to give her all my small clothing.

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