June Brown is right. Old age is the time to embrace bad habits, not kick them

June Brown is my kind of woman. The actor who plays Dot Cotton in EastEnders has said that, at 92, she still smokes and drinks and has no intention of giving up her vices because, after all, she “will die of something fairly soon”. She’ll also keep up her red wine and her dark chocolate even though she’s allergic to it.

She’s right. What always baffles me is why on earth anyone over a certain age would persist in being careful – with their diet, their habits or even their addictions.

I can just about bear visiting middle-aged people who offer me “healthy food” – they may at least have time to want to remain healthy for; but when they’re my age – 75 – I become fed up at having to choke down creme fraiche instead of cream, or being given yoghurt on my strawberries instead of full-fat, clotted, yellow Jersey. Not to mention “spreads” instead of butter and “biscuits” consisting of squashed nuts and any number of suspicious-looking seeds. As for muesli – I’d prefer porridge with cream and brown sugar.

What is wrong with these fear-filled oldies? Do they really think they’re gong to live for ever? Do they want to live for ever? Wasn’t it Kingsley Amis who said something along the lines of, “No pleasure is worth giving up for the sake of two more years in a geriatric home at Weston-super-Mare”? And anyway, isn’t the current thinking to stick with the regime you know? It’s probably far worse for your body to suffer the sudden cessation of smoking or drinking than to continue in its lovely, familiar way until you pop off.

I recently went to see a neurologist about persistent headaches. I told him there seemed to be only one medication that worked. Believe it or not, he said: “You mustn’t take that! It’s very strong stuff.” And so on.

The other day, I was talking to a friend of my age about drugs. We agreed that, although we had taken plenty in the 1960s, we hadn’t wanted to go too far in case we lost our marbles.

In vain I argued that, since we’re all losing our marbles anyway these days, this was just the right time to do drugs. Ketamine? Licking toads? ’Shrooms? Ayahuasca? “Or you could get a bottle of wine and I could score an E from a local dealer” (get that “score”) “and then we could see what happens,” I suggested.

But no. She was too nervous.

“We might get addicted,” she said prudishly.

But so what? We’ve only got a few more years left.

Later in life is the time when we can be truly ourselves. If we feel invisible, we should wear pigeons on our heads and leap at people from behind bushes. If we want to whistle or talk to strangers in the street, we should go ahead. Tell people they look great. Spread the love!

Our motto should be: “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” And it’s worth thinking about that. Because it’s not next year. It’s not next week. No, it could be tomorrow.

And if we can’t have a bit of fun during our last days, then when, for God’s sake, can we?

• Virginia Ironside is a journalist and the author of more than 20 books, including No Thanks! I’m Quite Happy Standing!