Slowing down is definitely a benefit of growing older and the more wrinkled I get the more pleasure I seem to derive from plodding along in the slow lane. Wake up, be awesome, go back to bed. That’s how I roll (in my head).

Instantly I can hear my reader calling me a hypocrite by citing my close friendship with Strava but I defend my occasional ‘local legend’ status with the argument that I am slow and consistent and not the fastest runner on the block. I do not need to go fast, I just like to turn up. I can be slow and steady – as the old adage goes – but do not feel the need to ‘win the race’. (Actually, this was never likely to happen, but it is nice to know that I do not now even feel the need).

It is the same with food. I have no need of fast food and I do not need pot noodles delivered to my front door (Apologies to UberEats). I do not need anyone to ‘shred’ my chicken for me (I know I am vegetarian but stick with me while we have time) or to dice up/peel my vegetables; I can use a knife and fork. As the youngest of four children I suffered years of indigestion through bolting down my food too quickly – failure to take full accountability for your own portion of chips (home cooked, not take away) would lead to pilfering by a sibling who was quicker on the draw.

I also feel no need for anyone to package up my coffee or food to consume ‘on the go’ and the older I get I find myself becoming really picky about the ceramic of choice in which to hug my non-instant cup of Americano. While I appreciate the offer of a ‘free’ coffee from Waitrose, I believe that even someone of my mature years can complete a full circuit of the supermarket without resorting to intravenous caffeine. Little things have slowly started to matter.

Watching the adverts, my slow brain cannot envisage a world where I will need to be using one device, two devices or three devices simultaneously. I also do not need an Amazon Prime link to flash up on the screen to remind me to order the advertised bathroom cleaner or face cream (Damn, I realise I have just outed my Amazon Prime account. I may embrace slow in most areas of my life, but I do love a next day delivery when it comes to merchandise).

I find myself trying to explain the concept of ‘snail mail’ to a Year 13 student. I explain to him that we used to dial in for ‘the World Wide Web’ and can see the pity in his eyes . I take him further back in time and explain that homes used to have landlines; he glazes over when I recite my childhood telephone number and explain that my parents even drilled us to answer the one family device and to take the name of the caller before covering the mouthpiece and yelling up the stairs, ‘Dad! It’s that batty old woman from your gardening club!’. My student sighes, ‘now you can just cover all bases with one emoji, Miss’.

It is not that I have to go slow. I like to think that it can be a conscious decision and that sometimes saying no can be quite liberating. My slowness makes me feel very wise when I listen to some of my woo woo wellbeing podcasts; ironically I am ahead of the wellbeing curve. I find that I have no need to pay someone to lock me away from my phone, or to provide me with a room with black out curtains and fresh air (I learn that you can pay top dollar to stay in hotel accommodation that promises to offer natural day light and fresh air should you be unable to find such luxuries for yourself. The hotel offers to ‘slow life down for your stay’. ) Until now I believed that a cheeky afternoon nap was a sign of growing old and I kept this secret indulgence away from the workplace (it would not go down well in a school – which is again ironic as many students fall asleep in my lessons). I need pay no one to provide me with a sleep cocoon (honestly, they exist.)

I am no conspiracy theorist but I am – slowly – starting to wonder if this urge to speed up the world was a cynical marketing ploy to ensure that we need to pay someone to slow it back down again. I am starting to applaud my parents for their old school approach. I realise that my childhood bedroom had the hallmarks of a wellbeing retreat: no tech, plenty of books and no central heating.

As I say, in these golden years I intend my ongoing mantra to remain: wake up, be awesome, go to back to bed. This is how I will slowly roll…until I remember that I have work tomorrow and that my Amazon delivery has not yet arrived.