A few weeks ago, an old friend told me she might have to sell her house. She’s 69, still working part-time despite poor health, and unsure what comes next. “I just feel tired,” she said quietly. She and her husband live with constant anxiety about money – the gentle winding-down they imagined has been replaced by fatigue and fear.

That same week, another woman I know who’s the same age sent photos from a river cruise in Portugal: sun, wine, laughter. It struck me that growing older in the UK has become a tale of two increasingly different lives.

We were all born within a year of each other. All three of us worked hard, raised families, and tried to do the right things. Yet here we are: one losing her home, one enjoying retirement, and me somewhere in between, still working but able t

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