I never knew my late father-in-law, but I am told that when new shoes were required he used to go into a shoe shop, sit down, point to his feet and say warmly “I'd like a pair like these, please.” The older I get, the more this seems perfectly reasonable.
If youth is time for experimentation, there surely comes a point when you’ve tried enough things you didn't like to focus on those you do. In the former category I would place ice-skating, jet-skiing and scuba-diving. (I finally tried it after years of nagging from a boyfriend, and was so tense that my mouth kept filling with seawater because my teeth were clenched in a terrified rictus grin.)
Far from being dull, I would argue that knowing what you like saves brain power for more important things. You can shop on autopilot - Gold 99 teabags, Aldi orange juice “with bits”, Davidstowe strength 5 cheddar. I know which dog food doesn't upset Bessie’s digestion; which razors don't cut my shins to confetti; the only cream that turns my scaly claws back into human hands. It would be exhausting to have to make conscious decisions about all that, like when you're learning to drive and have to think about every gear change.
There’s something peaceful about accepting things that don't suit you. I’ve surrendered to the fact that I can't walk in high heels; that red lipstick makes me look like Jack Nicholson playing the Joker in Batman; and “funky” spectacles like the lovechild of Su Pollard and Joe 90. I will never like coffee, fry-ups or Werther’s Originals. I know I am am never, ever going to own a gym membership or participate in a “fun run” (a misnomer if ever I heard one).
All of which frees me up to do Times crosswords; visit stately homes; curate my felt-tip pen collection; go on city breaks; get over-excited when the light is particularly beautiful; paint really quite badly; and eat fish and chips as often as I can without going up a trouser size. Huzzah!
