Being Thirty – Radio 4, 5-string guitars and a cups of tea

As has been customary for a long time – since even before the internet was invented – the first few days of an emerging new year must be accompanied by predictions. I wanted to be different, so I thought I’d post a single prediction that I absolutely, positively, God’s-honest-truth, bet-my-left-index-finger-on-it, promise will come true.

In 2009 I will turn thirty.

Unless someone has invented time travel in the time between me writing this and you reading it (in which case how stupid do I look?), a birthday generally mean you are getting older. I remember 20 not being all that much of a landmark – it was difficult to imagine oneself being ‘older and wiser’ whilst I was still wearing tartan trousers, juggling, carrying a yoyo everywhere and shared life-size cutouts of Scarey and Sporty Spices with my flatmate. Thirty, on the other hand always seemed to carry certain duties.

At thirty, I was always led to believe your body starts playing up. If you had a car or a computer for 30 years you’d expect it to be a little temperamental, so why expect your body to be any different? The thing is, I’m not 30 yet, and already I’m finding myself standing up from chairs with a soundtrack of ‘urrrmph’. It’s quiet, but it’s there. If I drop something on the floor, by back bends and I can’t stop a groan of ‘oorrgh’ accompanying it. If I’m honest, I’m typing this on the sofa and my floor is covered in discarded magazines, books and keys that I will not pick up off the floor until I’ve exhausted every other avenue of alternatives. It’s not that I’m Michael Winner you understand. I still cycle and walk a lot. It’s just that my back and legs have developed squeaks and creaks.

But that’s not all:

* I’ve noticed I’m hearing ‘the shipping forecast’ a lot. I had hoped this would make me feel young by being awake into the small hours but, I am told by Sarah, the listening to of Radio 4 is the preserve of the ‘lost cases’. I would argue against this, but I find myself nodding in agreement to John Humphry’s reasoning and find Sarah Montague’s voice ‘comforting’.
*I’ve started drinking tea. I understand that for many people this is not a sign of the impending ‘old’, but tea is a beverage almost exclusively missing from my since I was 19 and in my first year of university, and now I find it creeping back in shortly after my 29th birthday. Lost forever are my tealess twenties.

*I don’t mind missing episodes of my favourite programmes. I’d like to say this is because all modern television is rubbish, but then that too would be a sign of ‘the old’. I can quite happily watch the first 5 episodes of a series, and then watch episodes 8, 10 and 11 and hardly notice. Where once I’d have set the video (they still make those, right?) I know find I don’t mind.

*I find myself occasionally scouring the internet in search of a more comfortable sofa. When you’re young you want functionality – something your friends can quickly turn into a bed at a moments notice. When you’re young you want economy – I think I must have been 27 before I thought any item of furniture costing over £150 was ‘reasonable’. I think it’s a sign of ageing that you judge a sofa on it’s number of cushions, and a colour that won’t stain easily.

*The guitar – symbol of rebellion for the latest 3 generations of the human race. I have 3. I have shelves of cd’s by live-fast die-young rockstars and anti-establishment punksters and folkies alike. I enjoy playing them, but my telecaster has been missing it’s top E-string for about 6 months now despite the spare strings on the shelf. This is worrying – am I losing my rock-angst?

*I’ve started wanting ‘interesting holidays’. Not that I’ve been going to Ibiza or Malaga on a regular basis – that’s a sign of something completely different. It’s just that in your twenties I think you’re generally happy just to be going somewhere at all. No I want to see glaciers, retrace  the steps of Burroughs or Hemingway, or stay in some eco-lodge where all human waste is reused. Obviously I just put that last one in to see if you were still paying attention, I wouldn’t really go there for fear of recieving third degree burns from lentil soup or drowning in a chemical toilet.

*My musical taste is going in chronological reverse. In the last 12 months I started with Pearl Jam and Radiohead, and have moved back through The Cure and Morrissey towards Mott the Hoople and The Rolling Stones. This is not only a sign of being infected with ‘the old’, but is worrying – my thirtieth birthday party could well end up with a dj mixing the greatest hits of the Renaissance followed by a live performance from a recorder consort.

Maybe the great philosopher Cobain had it right when he wrote ‘teenage angst has paid-off well, now I’m bored and old’. Maybe I shouldn’t be worried that my thirtieth birthday marks my ‘being old’ because, from the evidence above, I’m already there.