Virginia Ironside: Old enough not to worry about making a fool of myself

What is it that comes over lady journalists of a certain age that makes them suddenly want to take the stage? Janet Street-Porter's done it. Yasmin Alibhai-Brown has starred in a one-woman show. And I'm now, rather late in the day, following in their footsteps by appearing in The Virginia Monologues, Why It's Great to Be Sixty, at the Edinburgh Fringe. And we're in good company. At 66, Linda Marlowe is appearing in a one-woman show, and Lynn Ruth Miller is doing burlesque at 74.

I think, in my case at least, that when you're 65, you suddenly feel confident enough to do all those things you felt too nervous to do when you were young. That's actually one of the many reasons why it's great to be 60, of course. In the past I would have dreaded making a fool of myself. But yesterday, on stage at the Gilded Balloon, I lost my way four times in the script and, worse still, my mobile went off in the middle of the performance and I didn't mind a bit. Nor, indeed, did my generous and relaxed audience – mostly my age, of course.

Apart from playing half of Brutus in a school play, I've never been particularly theatrical. I find the theatre a bore rather than a treat, generally, particularly big West End productions. But when I was at Woman magazine, as an agony aunt in the 1970s, the then editor persuaded me that I should spread the word by lecturing to ladies' luncheon clubs about the problem page and how it worked. I did this for years, taking trains to bizarre and faraway places, where ancient old ladies would snooze quietly through my talk after a heavy lunch.

My next experiences of public speaking were in giving funeral addresses – I got rather keen on them at one stage to the point that it became quite embarrassing, whenever anyone died, that I was first to put up my hand suggesting myself as a speaker. By now, however, I was getting the hang of this talking in public lark, and realising that, actually, it is very similar to writing.

I've always felt that good and readable writing is a lot to do with the timing of words and sentences – and always, as a result, blown a fuse when subs have changed a two-syllable word for a one-syllable one, just to make the copy fit – so when I was asked, after writing the last couple of books, to speak at literary festivals, I relished the opportunity. Unfortunately literary festivals don't pay and soon it was getting a bit of a pain hiking out to the country in order to entertain an audience and only sell perhaps only four or five books.

But last year I went on a US book tour, visited 10 cities in 14 days and gave 12 talks. I spoke to women with tortuous facelifts in Miami who must have been a hundred and had no idea what I was talking about when I joked about the perks of being an old baby boomer – sex, drugs rock'n'roll? What was I talking about? And it wasn't any easier when I found myself addressing just a couple of homeless people who had taken shelter in a nearby bookshop and happened to be there when I arrived to perform. ("What a treat!" I' d say, through gritted teeth. "Just us!")

But it was when I was asked to do a talk on a cruise last year that the idea of doing the Edinburgh Fringe really took off. It's heady stuff, talking to 300 people trapped on a boat with nowhere to do but to sit and listen to you, and as luck would have it, Nigel Planer was also on the cruise, writing a piece for a newspaper and he offered, after much arm-twisting, to direct me.

The result is that we came up to Edinburgh last week, and I was initiated into the world of lighting, soundtrack, getting my props carefully arranged on the stage, and the dreaded director's "notes".

So far I've done three shows. Only 21 more to go. Every day I totter off to the venue, and part the curtains with the words "How lovely to see you!", hoping that there are few more than two people sitting at the back.

So why do it? To be honest, lots of reasons. One is that journalists are having a tough time of it at the moment. The other is that it seems there is a huge bank of old people out there, just waiting to be entertained by someone who knows how make jokes about arthritis, death, and waning sexual desire. And also, of course, because I now realise that I am an inveterate self-publicist. There really is nothing like the sound of applause. Even at my age, or, perhaps particularly at my age, I want to be loved.

The Virginia Monologues: Why It's Great to Be Sixty, every day except Tuesdays until 31 Aug at the Gilded Balloon, Teviot Row House, Bristo Square, Edinburgh, 12.15pm, 0131-623 303