One of the best things about growing older is being far less easily embarrassed. You have dealt with so many potentially tricky situations so often that you breeze through, no longer blushing, staring at the floor or looking for the nearest exit. I feel sorry for the young when they make a small faux pas and are convinced that everyone in the room is staring, or worse, laughing at them behind their hands, whereas at my age you know that probably no one has even noticed. If they have, and they do stare, laugh or comment, you can handle that with aplomb, too.
The last time someone made a remark in a whisper so loud that I knew they intended me to hear was when I wore Nike trainers at an investiture. It was mine, and I had to stand in line before stepping up to the then Prince of Wales – before he was upgraded.
I cannot manage high heels any longer, probably because I wore them so rarely in the past that I haven’t had enough elderly balance practice, and flat shoes make me waddle, so unless it is boot weather my feet are very comfortable in trainers. I have many pairs in a variety of vivid colours but naturally I bought new, plain black ones for Windsor Castle. I was wearing my trusty smart black outfit, bought for a similar occasion ten years earlier, but I did splash out on new headgear. I had never had a Philip Treacy before and it made me feel a million dollars. It was remarked upon.
But while we were all waiting, I noticed that I was being stared at by a couple nearby, he in best military officer ceremonial, she in silk frock and feathery fascinator, and very suitable they looked too but clearly they did not think equally well of me because not only did they continue to stare but she said to him, clearly meaning to be overheard: ‘Is that woman wearing trainers?’
Imagine if I had been in my twenties and still easily mortified, because that moment was the very definition of wishing the ground would swallow you up.
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