AGEING has its inevitable upsides and downsides. Well, I've been told there are upsides but I've yet to determine what those might be.

Downsides, though. Let me count the ways.

One of the major blighters so far is the young folk (and I'm sure I was one of these just five minutes ago) having an opinion on how old is too old for certain mediums and certain methods of fun.

Dancing is one of the great loves of my life. My weekly adult ballet classes at Scottish Ballet are transformative. Everything from the feel of ribbon and shoe elastic on my feet to the comfort of knowing the routine of a class to simply being able to move and stretch freely.

Not always well, or the right move at the right time, but always freely.

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Dance is a mental cure-all for shaking out sadness and frustrations. Among its great many benefits is that it improves visuospatial skills. It literally changes our perception, it alters how we see the world.

And yet, outwith organised classes, there are so few opportunities to do it. I mean, I often find myself having a little bop about in the supermarket or on the pavement on route to somewhere else, but this is generally frowned upon.

No, the main opportunity is in a nightclub but, according to a UK-wide study a couple of years ago, which has been preying on my mind ever since, 37 is the cut-off point for this activity before you become sad and past it. A small tragedy, that is.

For the maturing clubber life is nothing but the march towards the inevitable day when the bouncer turns you away at the club door for being too old to blend in.

In June my friend had a huge birthday party and kindly invited my mum who, and she'll kill me for this, is closer to 80 than 70. Undeterred by ageism, she was up on the dancefloor, a 20-something girl again, making shapes. It was a beautiful thing.

My friend had a disco for her 70th birthday a couple of years ago and that, too, was spectacular. All ages, dancing as one until the wee hours. These are few and far between opportunities though.

Christmas time is slightly more forgiving. Office parties, if you can bear them, give the chance to dance. So do family parties when the eggnog's been tanned and cousin Frank has turned DJ.

TikTok is the other main chance to dance but hats off to those who can be bothered to learn and perfect a routine, film it and upload it. Having come very late to the TikTok party, I love it.

Large swathes of the social media platform are filled with a type of interpretive dance as people express themselves through movement. What does any of it mean? Who cares? But am I allowed to enjoy it?

There are hundreds of torturous think pieces about how old is too old for TikTok. The answers range variously from "you're never too old" to "if you're over 30, you're over the hill, get lost". My plan is to simply not tell anyone I'm there.

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These past few weeks have seen a new dance cause a widespread stir. With her deadpan stare and precise choreography, Wednesday Addams, in the eponymous new Netflix series, has inspired dancers the globe around to dance, dance, dance with their hands, hands, hands to complete abandon.

Barely three minutes long, Wednesday's high school prom dance solo has become the stand out part of the series with Lady Gaga's version sending the routine truly stratospheric.

The dance was apparently developed by actress Jenna Ortega, who plays the title role in Wednesday. During the few minutes of the routine, set to a cover version of the 1962 Ronnie Cook and the Gaylads single Goo Goo Muck, Ortega dips and whirls, takes up oodles of space and releases some transformative creative force.

It's been copied millions of times by people in fancy dress or in high heels or in their pyjamas; people who are step perfect or who fluff it, or who put their own spin on it but all channelling the same unbounded energy and weird delight.

Ending the year with a viral dance trend that will hopefully spin us straight into 2023 is just what we need – if we know it or not.

The moral is not to dance like no one is watching but to dance like everyone is watching and still not care. Regardless of skill or experience and, decisively, regardless of age.