'I love you Hope.' 'I love you to Michael.' 'I miss Gary.' 'Me too.'

Life It's nine o'clock, three hours left of my twenties, and I'm in a funny mood. I'm standing in the Liverpool Academy waiting for The Polyphonic Spree to perform. I've eaten Jambalaya for tea at the Everyman Bistro. I'm having a debate with my friend Chris about how old I look. I tell him that whenever people look at me and guess my age, they usually say I'm mid-20s. He looks skeptical. So I suggest we ask a random member of the audience. I look about. No one there. Give it five or ten minutes and normal looking couple, she's tall and blonde, he's slightly shorter. A turn to her:
Me: Can I ask you a random question?
Her: Pardon?
Me: Can I ask you a totally random question?
Her: Err. Ok. Yes.
Me: How old do I look?
Her: What?
Me: How old do you think I look?
Her: I can't say that. I mean.
Me: Don't worry. I don't mind.
She looks me over. She looks me over again.
Her: I don't know.
Me: Whatever you're thinking.
Her: 38?
I look at Chris. I look at her. I look at Chris again. 'Thirty-Eight?' I mouth. Chris rolls his eyes. The woman is a bit embarassed. I don't blame her. I lean forward.
Me: It's Ok. I'm thirty in three hours.
Her eyes widen. She starts relaying the conversation to her partner. I carry on talking to Chris. 'That's teach me.' I say. Later, he asks me never to do that again, that it was mean, and tells me it's all downhill from here. He was correct as usual, and it basically served me right. But it did confirm. I'm officially Thirtysomething everybody.


  1. Happy Birthday. Good to know that once you hit thirty your blogging muscles don't atrophy.

    I've got four more months left...

  2. Many happy returns