BEL MOONEY: As I hit 80, here’s everything I’ve learned (and why I still hit the road on my Harley): Use Botox, but don’t get a facelift. Work on your biceps. Ditch what bores you. And ALWAYS find time for wine…

Please don’t try to reassure me with the old cliche: ‘Age is just a number.’ Saying ‘you’re as old as you feel’ is better but, be honest: I’m definitely old.

Age is a reality, notched up year by year, as unstoppable as the seasons.

Confidence and power come with how you deal with that reality, not with the pleasant self-deception that this special oil will stop your arms from crinkling or this cream will ‘lift’ your face. Believe me, I enjoy the oils, creams and make-up as much as ever but I don’t have any illusions about anything at all, from products through people to politics. Even before I was 20, regarding each year as something to be ticked off, I wrote an odd, creative piece called Notch Nineteen.

Re-reading it today, I notice the mood is bolshie defiance in the face of problems.

Now, as I notch up 80, I reckon that teenager had it about right. Dolly Parton’s recent death rocked me as much as all the music she sang.

Also born in 1946, she achieved her ultra-feminine look with plastic surgery, wigs and a lot of make-up; as for her clothes, who wouldn’t want to dress like a fantasy? Dolly was as open about the ‘work’ on her face and body as she was about her purpose in life. Honesty was as much her trademark as her wigs.

That little girl from a shack in Tennessee wanted success, money and power; she used her excellent brain, kept control of her songs and her brand, and gave us as brilliant a lesson in defiance as I’ve seen.

That’s why her life and death give renewed inspiration to this little girl from a council flat in Liverpool who always wanted a lot too.

Dolly proved you can keep going until the end, adding to the notches on your belt with a wide, warm, tough smile of triumph.

It’s only by being realistic about ageing that you can assemble strategies to cope. Denial helps nobody, which is why those women (of all ages) who spend a fortune on butt and facelifts are so sad.

There will be no facelifts for this lady – just a regular facial at our village salon and maybe a tweak of Botox in the frown once in a while, because I don’t want to look as if I’m not enjoying life.

On the subject of realism, here’s the bad news. I’ve had both hips replaced and currently find I’m suffering some arthritic pain in my left hand. That’s new. I take a daily tablet for hypertension (high blood pressure) and dread winter coughs due to lifelong bronchitis and asthma.

Breathlessness is sometimes a problem. Ditto getting more tired. Hearing aids a necessity. That’s how it is – and it’s OK. A slightly older friend informed me dolefully: ‘Once you reach the age of 80 you start to notice everything going wrong – bits of you stop working.’

Thanks for the warning but I refuse to be pessimistic. It was thrilling to be able to swing a leg back over that pillion seat on our Harley this summer, because accepting the reality of ageing doesn’t mean giving up.

Far from it, the three-pronged ‘fight’ starts with the face and body but has to involve the mind and spirit as well.

This is what I’ve learned over the years, through a wonderful, varied career in writing and broadcasting, ever since my byline first appeared in a national newspaper in 1970.

Each one of us is a whole, an entity, and the secret of older life is to treat each aspect with equal respect, awe – and even love.

Neglect one part of the mind-body-spirit triumvirate and the rest will fail, too. This is what I know to be true. This is what I practise.

In a sense, the ‘body’ bit is the easiest. I was raised by a mother who considered face cream, make-up and nice clothes as essential as food. So, each morning, even if I’m going to be working at my desk all day, seeing nobody but my husband and three little dogs, I choose a different outfit to the one I wore yesterday and put on some (Boots own brand) make-up: a small swish of foundation, eyes and lips.

Jewellery is essential. If I dress up to meet our friends, why shouldn’t I dress to greet the familiar face in the mirror? Beige, black, taupe and brown are forbidden; I live my life in colour – it does wonders for the mood.

For hair, too. Who doesn’t lament the inevitable thinning? But my only granddaughter (the other three are boys) is adamant that I’m not allowed to go grey, ‘because it just wouldn’t look like you, Granny!’

Some might judge the L’Oreal box colour I buy from Boots just a bit too red (I suspect it is) but she likes it and so does my husband, so why not? I cut and colour my own shaggy mop which saves me a fortune – to be saved for the grandkids.

And once you’re this age you know you don’t need new clothes or posh products to give you presence.

Fashion trends (what clown invented barrel jeans?) and expensive labels are all very well but they don’t necessarily bring that indefinable sense of glamour.

It’s not about thinking you want to look ‘young’. It means looking as good as you can.

I like alcohol and food, and obey no rules on either. But exercise has become more important than I ever thought possible.

It’s the key to looks, posture and future planning – and that means coping with decrepitude!

I start each day with ten minutes of tai chi (teach yourself from online videos) and make sure I do other sessions of different exercises (for example pilates, resistance bands, my rowing machine etc – at home) every single day.

Daft as it may sound, I’m really proud of my biceps, since weight training is essential once you pass 60.

You dread falling and being stuck? Then do something about it. Take control. Even if chair-bound, you can flex your arms to music, holding cans of beans.

The motivation isn’t vanity but vigour and looking better is the cherry on the cake. My tip is to make a weekly grid in a special notebook and write down what you’ve done each day. It becomes unacceptable to yourself to leave a day empty.

Older women often complain about becoming invisible and I do know what they mean. But you have to make yourself seen: approach this world as if you have a right to it. Isn’t that supposed to be the trademark of us baby boomers?

In so many ways we were luckier than today’s young – therefore it’s our duty to limit moaning and get on with life, just as our wartime elders taught us. Walk tall (I’m 5ft 3in) and look outwards at the world.

Confidence is the watchword and the ageing process teaches that it has to come from within. You might not be sexy any more but you can sure as hell engage your mind.

What a privilege it was to be brought up before the age of the internet, the smartphone, apps, passwords and mind-blowingly stupid ‘woke’ notions which would have been jeered at by the working men and women I grew up with and the trades unionists and people from all walks of life I reported on as a young journalist.

At grammar school I learned to debate any side of any subject; you didn’t have to believe a proposition to argue it.

That’s called thinking – and the training remains, because my brain is still firing on all cylinders. I reckon I could start a brand new career tomorrow, add useful experience to trusts and boards, tell politicians to use common sense and so on.

Of course, I know that’s mad, but my favourite line in Dolly’s song 9 To 5 is, ‘pour myself a cup of ambition’. The feeling of being able and powerful is what matters. Reading three newspapers a day and watching the television news can make your active mind almost implode with frustration, fear and fury. The world seems to become more stupid.

I’m as voracious a reader as I was as a child, when the Old Swan public library in Liverpool was my heaven – so a lifetime of reading and study leaves me confident in what I believe.

To sum up – King and Country, meritocracy, hard work and high standards, independent thought, aspiration, free speech and a passionate belief in the glorious Judeo-Christian civilisation of the West which is always under threat yet still stands as a bulwark between us and chaos.

My passport is blue and my flag the Union Jack.

Since 21, I’ve voted Labour, Green (nothing to do with the current dross), Lib Dem and now I’m a paid-up, questioning Conservative. The statement ‘let’s agree to differ’ should be sacred.

How to keep despair at bay when the world feels so depressing? When you dread what the future might hold for four grandchildren?

Through writing an advice column for over 20 years (something never on my career plan), I’ve learned that human nature hasn’t changed very much.

All the books I’ve read confirm that we’re a flawed bunch who prove that the ancient identification of Seven Deadly Sins is as pertinent today.

Just observe them: pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth/idleness.

If you think these aspects of human nature can be changed by temporary politicians, you’re doomed to disappointment.

People are not perfectible and real terror comes when regimes try to impose ideologies.

Getting old should mean getting wise to the fact that some things can’t be changed – therefore peace of mind and ease of spirit involve active acceptance. That’s not a contradiction.

Wise… yes. Wise to positives as well as negatives. Wise to human nature – but also to human possibility, because the good people are always offsetting the bad ones. Wise to the realisation that you will never be ‘invisible’ to those you love, nor to the people you meet – say at the supermarket, in church, in any shop – whom you greet with a smile.

Go out, pay attention, be ready to chat and you’ll be rewarded. It can be done; it’s within your power, whatever your age.

One of the things that keeps me going is an ever-renewed fascination with the souls I meet and the quest to find the magic something that makes even the most unlikely person tick. Whether it’s dogs, poetry, art, motorcycles, books, God, nature, psychology, music… talk to me and I’ll be happy. All of the above (and more) act as an antidote to pain – and I’ve had enough of that in my life.

In fact I’m currently writing a memoir to exorcise some of it (harder than I thought) but find that the older I get the less things hurt.

Since time passes with increasing speed, there’s no time to mope about regretting what can’t be changed.

No time to write or do things that bore me because there’s just too much waiting to spark joy.

The deaths and serious health scares of people you know serve to focus the mind on the unassailable truth that, like it or not, you are entering the last stage in your one and only, precious life.

One minute, it seems, I was the (rather wild and up for anything) young kid on the block in newspapers and magazines, and now I’m dubbed a ‘veteran journalist’.

Well the good side of that is considering yourself one of the Elders, who have seen a lot, survived disillusion and accrued enough wisdom and experience to know that gratitude is essential.

I give thanks for watching TV with my husband and three small dogs, all on one rather battered sofa. Looking out of our windows at the glory of trees and knowing, with due humility, that we are but custodians and they will outlive us.

Opening wine with friends. Opening books as friends. Remembering my parents with gratitude for all they gave me.

Talking with my adult children as closely as ever and watching their children grow.

Beginning each day with a prayer of gratitude for still being here – and a merry promise to go on growing, learning and loving every moment.

To quote the late, great Dolly: ‘I’m as old as yesterday and as new as tomorrow.’

Yes, yes, yes.