I turned 30 on Monday. It’s funny, I’d convinced myself that I’d notice it more, that the world would look different, that a switch would flip in my head that activated my Grown Up Gene. Needless to say, that hasn’t happened. That may be partly due to the fact that I had a Dalek birthday cake. It has a soundchip. It says ‘exterminate’. That is fundamentally cool.
(I also got a goat and a school desk via the Oxfam Unwrapped initiative, which is equally cool.)
Of course, 30 is a milestone, and it makes you ask yourself what you’ve done with your life. I’m not sure how to answer that question. I’ve got a decent job, no real problems there. I’ve got no real major health or financial problems, I’m not yet going bald. Things aren’t too bad.
Only I had a sucky weekend – had to fix a leak at home, which doesn’t sound much, but it always makes me realise how impractical I am and thus reminds me that I miss my dad, and then I found myself in a stupid confrontation over something completely ridiculous which put a dampner on things. And that’s not the best backdrop to your 30th. I don’t have a girlfriend, I can’t afford a house, I still get turned round on Wolverhampton ring road…
I have a feeling I’m going to end up thinking a lot about my life in the next few weeks.
30, huh? That’s grown up.
But I’m still 21 in my brain.