I suppose there is a time of life when you long to appear older - perhaps when you are around 13 or 14. I recall buying my first transparent pink nail varnish around that age - my mother never wore any so I couldn't borrow hers, though I did occasionally dip into her Ponds Vanishing Cream and very rarely into her Ponds cold cream. I did not quite understand the difference, though I preferred the texture of the vanishing cream and its mysterious name.  That is all she used on her face and a touch of Ponds powder. I recall trying to dress up and lying about my age. I wanted to be grown up. When I started menstruating, I thought I would pass, ugly duckling-like, through this rite of passage into a new, more exciting world. But this rite of passage brought nothing but dreadful tummy aches and the monthly bother. A bit of a let-down really. My life certainly did not change in an instant for the better, and nor did my looks.

If in youth we long to be grown up, in the grown-up world, who doesn't hate the thought, far less the reality, of ageing? And although women perhaps hate it most, men do too. They seem to be more afraid of their body letting them down than their looks disappearing. It is quite unfair that men with a good crop of grey hair look distinguished rather than aged. And which man, with greying hair at the temples, like the late Rossano Brazzi, doesn't look dishy?

For women who gloat over the kind of magazines that worship flawless beauty it is worse, as page after page is covered with sexy and glamorous unblemished creatures. Just stick to the newspapers and journals I say. Otherwise it is hard to resist the siren call of Botox injections, cosmetic surgery, liposuction and the world of pins and tucks as you see your own progressively slacker image in the mirror each morning. Yes, it is always worse in the morning though I must say, as I get into my slippers and before I uncurl myself on the way to the living room for breakfast, I usually feel at my thinnest. And in the dim evening light one doesn't look so haggard and wrinkled. Don't we all look our best by candlelight?

I have banished those all-revealing mirrors which make my every pimple look like a hillock and every pore like a miniature Vesuvius. I don't want to see myself at close quarters, with or without clothes. In fact I close my eyes tightly whenever I pass a mirror as, even if you forget about the face, the body seems to have an endless amount of Michelin tyres, especially after the indulgences of Christmas. In my present state, I would need two liposuctions not just one. And that's just the beginning.

Every TV makeover show and every newly minted celebrity or indeed those who have been around for longer than me - like Joan Collins and Sophie Loren - makes you feel you should be 'doing something' to defy the ageing process.

Just look at the 'others' in your life, women of a similar age who now boast crease-free brows, plumped-up cheeks, bee stung lips and wide-eyed stares but whose face seems to be quite expressionless; women who don't want to 'give in; and let the world know that age happens.

These 'others' will come up with an avalanche of reasons why it is crazy not to take advantage of everything cosmetic that is available today, if you have the money that is. After all you don't let all your teeth fall out and your hair turn grey. (Anyway how many people do you know these days that don't colour their hair, even if it isn't grey? How many of those alluring blondes are sporting the same mousy coloured hair God gave them?) So why not sign up for 'improve me' injections? And once you see the results how about the first nip and tuck? And what about liposuction, one fast way of getting rid of the most conspicuous Michelin tyre which makes you apple shaped and cramps your style? And once that disappears how about an eye lift to get rid of those crocodile upper lids and give yourself the sort of wide-eyed look associated with Twiggy rather than a Basset Hound or Cocker Spaniel?

And if you have ever been sucked into watching reality TV, then you will no doubt have felt uncomfortable at the sight of models and celebrities who, though young and beautiful to start off with, become even more alluring after going under the knife and make-up artist, hair-stylist, manicurist and eyebrow plucker and so on hover around offering their services, usually for free. But we too look more than reasonable when we are carefully made up and well lit- not exposed to the harsh jungle sun and of course in photographs which are air brushed and all flaws made invisible.

In the harsh Mediterranean sunlight, women of a certain age do not fare well. Not only is she in the constant company of smooth-limbed girls at least half her age, who, even if not particularly beautiful, have the allure of youth, but she also has to suffer the further indignity of being more critically mauled for her looks than her balding, pot-bellied male fellows, often men who seek perfection in women, even if they themselves are far from perfect.

What's one to do? Those of us who genuinely don't want to go under the knife or inject fillers into our faces must develop a thicker, albeit wrinklier, skin.

I have seen very successful plastic surgery but also plastic surgery which has made women look older, their faces a total mask - yes, wrinkle free with not a sign of a passing moment, but mask-like. They look as if they have had some serious work done on their brows, their chins, their lips...

But in the current climate, it becomes even harder to remain resolute and stick to the philosophy that ageing gracefully - or even disgracefully if one so wishes - is what counts rather than looking stretched and sculpted and mask like.

I am not going to say 'Never!' for who knows what I might do tomorrow. No one wants to be an old hag if they can help it. But it seems to me there is an ever growing number to whom cosmetic surgery has become more than a modern-day rite of passage; it has become an obsession.

As for me, I am slowly turning to philosophy. This is a time to relax more now that the striving of youth has passed. It's time to rediscover the pleasures of friendship; the benefits of experience. Maybe there is still time to make new discoveries of people and places and explore new avenues and possibilities. And even to achieve something really worthwhile. I hold the Zen view that mirror gazing is ageing. If you look for signs, you'll find them. If you don't look, they're not there.

However, I agree with a reader in one of the Sunday papers who quite rightly objected to being called 'Anzjana' as soon as she turned 60 and received one of those ugly laminated cards. Also, editors should make it a point of eliminating the adjectives 'Anzjan' and 'Anzjana'. Not unless the person is over 80. Many of us don't expect to feel old until we are at least 80. Whether I shall look it or not is another matter. But it is only at 80 that I might concede that I'm old, but not a minute before. If I'm still alive that is.

In the meantime, those who think that botox, cosmetic surgery and all that paraphernalia is going to improve their looks and make them look better and feel happier, then I say go ahead and do it. As we get older and older, looking gorgeous simply takes more time, more money and more effort.