So the big three-oh has come and gone. I am now a thirty-something instead of a twenty-something. It doesn’t really feel much different, which is almost a disappointment. The extended weekend was wonderful. A good time was had by all. Well, at least I had a good time and no one else complained in my presence, so I assume a good time was had by all.
In the absence of existencial angst at the relatively big occasion, I thought the least I could do was contemplate some lists of things that other people feel I ought to have accomplished by now.
50 things to do before you’re 30 – I’ve done 8. 9 if it counts if you weren’t actually at home when setting out for the weekend break. Uh, hang on, 10… Number 15: I got a court order for not paying my council tax while in Telford. Problem is, I didn’t actually get the initial bills, so I’m not sure that counts either.
Things to do before you’re 30. Well, I’ve certainly been broke enough to rejoice at finding a fifty-pence piece. In fact, I think I’ve fulfilled most of Libby Purves’ advice, except informing “a total stranger that you really, really value them because you love all mankind, right?” I don’t love all mankind. Not even when I’m pissed out of my head. The rest of the article seems to be either too silly (“own a ferrari”?) or too worthy. I do wish I’d interrogated my grandmother before she died, but that has nothing to do with turning 30 – she died when I was 20.