Who Wants To Live Forever?’ sang Queen. Well, I wouldn’t, even if I didn’t physically age and become infirm or lose my mind (and most of that I’ve done already...).

Indeed, I can’t think of a worst nightmare; if by some miracle I did manage to live to the grand old age of 200, and still walk and talk, I don’t think I’d be happy.

After all, I’d have lost my friends, family, and seen every gameshow known to man (no, I don’t think Deal or No Deal would continue to hold any appeal for me if it were still being screened in 2162).

And of course I’d be bored. After 200 years, there’d be almost nothing I hadn’t experienced at least once. Buttttt... I could happily live to say... 120. That would be okay.

Particularly if I had the spirit of the two Oxonians we featured in our paper last week – Catherine Masters, known as ‘Katie’, who’s now an astonishing 110, and Sidney ‘Woody’ Woodgett who’s still just a slip of a lad at a 100 (as a bloke, Woody’s pic was very heartening; togged out crisply in his blazer and tie – rakishly tugged down – a glass of bubbly in one hand, a cheeky looking West Highland terrier called Alfie lying across the other, and an indomitable gaze. Yes, he could still pull a model).

And the secret of his long life? Never drink water and be careful with everything, he says.

Couldn’t agree more. Water is very over-rated. Celebrating anything with a bottle of Highland Spring is always going to be a dampener.

And Katie’s no shy wallflower either. Earlier this year, her stepdaughter wrote to Buckingham Palace on Katie’s behalf, complaining about the fact that of the five recent birthday cards she’s recently received from Her Majesty, each one featured her wearing the same yellow dress (see? – you can get away with that when you’re 109. Incidentally, on the card to commemorate her 110th birthday, the Queen wore blue. Now that’s ‘Respect’).

Anyway, what really got me thinking about ageing this week was the appearance of Sir Terry Wogan at an Abingdon bookshop last week.

Given a hero’s welcome by fans old and young, who turned up to have him sign copies of his latest book, the ageless broadcasting legend (well, okay, he’s 71) looked every bit as chipper as he did when he was on Top of the Pops singing the Floral Dance many moons ago.

But it did make stop and wonder: what, I thought, if I were a similar age but a woman – blue rinse, blue veins, blue tights, and plenty of ‘go’. Who would light my fire?

Yup, I don’t even need to say it, do I?

So if fate is kind enough to let me age as gracefully and strappingly as Sir Terry, then hitting my twilight years might not be such a bad thing.

Olden is golden they say, and it’d be nice to think that aged 99, I could walk into any tea dance and – literally – break hearts. Especially since I’ll have waited my whole life to do that...