ALL over the country, people have been shrieking in horror, surprise or glee as a strange orb appeared in the sky. It was a rare sight in the heavens as this glowing disc appeared from nowhere.

Those whose faces have had a downward tilt for months, suddenly cracked a smile. There was hope ahead.

Yes folks, the sun poked its nose from behind a cloud recently and gave us all a shock.

Despite the wonders of modern science, we have not come far since the ancient Egyptians decided the sun was a god and worshipped it from the pyramid tops. We still worship it, but on beaches in Tenerife, Malaga or Barbados.

And if we don't see it for a few weeks or months, we get SAD - Seasonal Affective Disorder - at least that's what the scientists have termed the winter blues.

You don't notice it in the early part of the winter because you are too busy getting excited about Christmas. But once the tinsel's tarnished, we wake up in the morning and decide the duvet has a warm, magnetic hold.

It's no respecter of the sexes, but youngsters don't feel it in the same way.

If you've ever been round the town on a brass-monkey night, you still see the lads strutting around in their T-shirts as if it were a tropical paradise. The girls are waddling around in croppy tops, bare midriff to display tattoos and piercings, and skirts so short they look more like belts.

Older people shake their heads, tut-tut and shudder insider their overcoats, mufflers and mittens.

But as you listen to the alarm clock clanging its heart out for the umpteenth time, if you whisper to yourself "Is this as good as it gets?" then perhaps it is more than sunlight deprivation. It could be because time, the relentless gelder, has you firmly by the scruff of the neck. It could be because you are over 50, God forbid!

Before you get too depressed at the thought, think positive. There are perks of advancing years.

For instance, kidnappers are not very interested in you; in a hostage situation you are likely to be released first; and no one expects you to run - anywhere.

People call at 9pm and ask "Did I wake you?" and people no longer view you as a hypochondriac.

There is nothing left to learn the hard way, things you buy now won't wear out and you can eat dinner at 4 pm. You can live without sex but not your glasses and you enjoy hearing about other people's operations.

You get into heated arguments about pension plans and you no longer think of speed limits as a challenge. You quit trying to hold your stomach in no matter who walks into the room and you sing along with music in the lift. You know your eyes won't get much worse and that your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them either.

So you think all that's funny? I did, until I realised that every one of these applies to me.

Come on you fuzzy 50-somethings, don't dither, let's fight back.

Ladies, squeeze your thighs into those dusty hot pants, force your bunions into a pair of winkle-picker stilettos and strut your stuff. Ok, you can wear your liberty bodice under the see-through chiffon if it hides the goose pimples.

Lads, burn your sensible cardigan and slippers, seek out that George Formby World Tour T-shirt and force it over the beer belly.

Then join the revellers on the pub circuit, see if you can still sink 18 pints and cause trouble in the taxi queue at closing time (if you know what time that is these days). Then buy a kebab from the burger van but make sure you have plenty of Rennies to chew each time you get up in the night for a wee.

There, you see. We can still do it, despite the doubters - doubters like the pub landlord who kindly gave me a bottle of 18-year-old malt whisky one night. At least I thought he was being kind until he sniggered: "That's the only 18-year-old you'll ever get your hands on again at your age!"

Updated: 10:17 Tuesday, January 17, 2006