Why you won’t find me trying to look like Elvis   I’ve often thought about grabbing a bottle of Just for Men. Then I remember that my dad did the same thing, once, and ended up looking like Elvis Presley.   I’m sensitive about my age and I’m not even that old – I’m 43. The silver hair, as I’ve been told, gives the game away. But I should rejoice in this, if that’s all it is that makes me look more mature.    I’m a bit less anxious and neurotic than in my teens; I’m physically healthier than I was in my twenties; I’m fitter and stronger, now, than I was in my thirties. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink that much - my skin is grateful for both. I have a zest for life. I still wear Adidas Gazelles.   My age never used to be an issue in my previous life. There were six of us who started at the BBC at the same time as twentysomethings. We celebrated landmark birthdays together; we went to each other’s weddings; we celebrated the arrival of our children. The anxiety over leaving and then later