I can't believe my lovely wee Scottish mum is at this stage

That’s because there are only a few shops that have the “Happy 90th!” ones. You’ll find those at the end of the row, way past 21st, via 40, 50, 60….right at the bottom. It’s difficult to stoop down and reach for those, which is ironic. Then they stop. None of the places I’ve visited have ones for the next big birthday, 100.

Anyway, it’s strange to see an entire lifespan spreading across a Paper Tiger shelf.

It makes me realise that she’s getting closer to the inevitable grand finale, no matter how we deny it. And we do.

This age just seems so scary, like she’s on the edge of a precipice. I don’t know why I expected that she could dodge getting this ancient. You do, though. We know everyone dies and only the lucky ones get very old, but there’s that stupid stubborn kernel at the back of your brain that says not me though, and not them.

Still, she’s here, hooray, and I am trying not to be negative about her hitting this ginormous but glorious number. I am very grateful.

After all, life expectancy for women in the UK is currently 80.8 years old, and it’s 76.8 years old for men. She’s gone ten years over that prediction, and is still flying along quite merrily. It seems that her borrowed time has been so well earned. She’s had sepsis, diabetes, various skin problems, a tumour, she’s really hard of hearing, and has a million other ailments that require about 10 medications a day. There have been a few spells of hospitalisation over the last few years, but she does her time and bounces out of there.

When I asked her how she felt about turning 90, she gave me a thumbs down. She says that everything is going wonky, from her vision to her mobility. This advanced old age level isn’t for sissies.

I can remember my late mother-in-law saying that, when her mum turned 80, she just wanted to wrap her in cotton wool. I felt the same when my mum hit that milestone, but that was ten years ago. This one feels even scarier. Perhaps I should roll her up in bubble wrap and pink tissue paper.

She’s getting to the age when people will start to ask her “secret”. When it comes to her longevity, it’s got to be in the genes. After all, apart from her penchant for blueberries, her diet isn’t that great. She’s currently addicted to mini pork pies, and orders two large packs a week. I think of the sulphites and shudder.

She has always been hooked on butter and salt. My sister and I used to nag her about her overuse of those ingredients, when she’d thickly layer butter onto toast, or pour salt onto a smoked salmon sandwich until it was crunchy. Yeuch. She’s having the last laugh now.

Her advanced years may also be down to having children later in life. Apparently those who have kids post 40 are four times more likely to live to 100. She popped my sister out at the age of 41.

I always think of her peak as being in her fifties, since she loved Eighties fashions, especially tartan tights and Lurex, and was always on the go, doing books-on-wheels and throwing dinner parties. However, that was a long time ago. The other day, she said she couldn't remember her childhood, which was awfully sad, though memories seem to come and go. She’ll say that one day, then hit me with an anecdote on another.

She has outlived many of her friends, though there are a few hardcore women who persist. Some are in better shape than her. It’s incredible to think that her own mum has been gone for around 60 years, her younger sister for 40 and her dad for 45 or so.

Still, she continues to enjoy watching snooker, tennis and Midsomer Murders, Vera, Morse, Doc Martin, and ancient episodes of All Creatures Great and Small.

There are two carers a day, who make sure she’s had her morning Marmite on toast - they don’t spread the butter thick enough, though she never complains - and take her meds.

To celebrate her big day, we have a weekend trip planned, to a hotel in her hometown of Moffat. We will be like the Beverly Hillbillies, in a big people carrier that’s being commandeered by my long-suffering husband. We have been instructed to go the scenic route, so she can see the Grey Mare’s Tail Waterfall and The Devil’s Beef Tub.

We have told her to pack her hearing aids.

There will be afternoon tea, toffee, and a wave to the ram. I’m sure we will quickly run out of things to do. We planned on trying out the pedalos on the boating lake, since we loved those as kids, but the weather report suggests that we might be sunk on that front.

She's most looking forward to showing her grandchildren her old house.

We’ve arranged to pop by, for a recce. I don’t know if seeing it again will make her happy or sad. Probably a bit of both.

I’ve also got her a gift of a new Swatch, with liquorice allsorts all over it, since she loves a bit of funky fashion.

And a birthday card, of course. It says “Happy 90th”, and was plucked from the very bottom shelf.

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