photo peel-onion_zps30a4c55e.png

Monday, 17 November 2014

5 Signs I'm Getting Old

I realised something dreadful this weekend. I think I might be getting old. Not quite old old, but definitely a far cry from the perkiness of my uni days. They’re only little things, tiny really… but when you add them all up I fear my early twenties are fast coming to an end. Granted I’m not quite ready to set up camp in B&Q just yet, but it’s a slippery slope to old fartdom.

Image source
I discovered I hate clubs. A fun little bar for a bit of dancing? Absolutely. But when Friday night’s drinks down the pub took a turn for the more upbeat it turns out I’m a bit of a bore. After a boozy meal with my sister I decided I was not yet ready to throw in the towel. I gatecrashed Tomasz’s evening and turned up for more gin fuelled fun at the pub. Come 1 o’clock I was in the mood for dancing so herded everyone into a cab and down to Fabric in Farringdon. I’d been trying to get there for ages and eventually my time had come, but the bubble surely burst after one of us was told to ‘have a coffee’ to sober up (since when do you have to be sober to get into a club? Surely that’s the point to be pissed when you go in?)
Then I got my sachet of pasta ‘n’ sauce taken off me (a remnant from lunch, but what a waste!) and my £300 camera was taken too  for ‘safe keeping’. Naturally I was pretty pissed off. After being frisked a little more, trying to navigate the winding corridors of endless queues and ‘atmospheric’ smoke, coughing up the exorbitant entry fee and getting bashed and bumped by the usual crowd of drunk fuelled tossers, I couldn’t have felt less like partying.  I was worrying about my camera, we kept losing straggling sheep from our herd and the bar tender chirpily told me it’s a £15 minimum spend for a drink. Marvellous. The music was also crap. At 18 when 4am came around I was still full of beans and devastated when the night had to come to an end. Eight years on I couldn’t wait for my bed, and the thing that got me most hyped up? The Uber home was only £15.

The second moment I felt my age was this morning on the tube. Monday mornings are always shite but today it was not the usual armpits and nostril hair of the smelly commuters or even the sheets of freezing rain that got my goat. It wasn’t the crawling progress of the train coupled with the inane and pointless announcements of the train driver telling us we were ‘experiencing delays’. Nope, today it was a young couple smooching next to the escalator. Fair enough a farewell hug and a kiss, but is it really necessary to stick your tongue down each other’s throats when most of us haven’t had our morning brew? Please, let’s keep it clean people – Monday commuters alert.

It’s no longer acceptable to wear any pants which are not akin to something Bridget Jones would be proud of. I gave up on thongs a long time ago, but now even the lacy pretty pants feel like scratchy hell. Now it’s ‘bigger the better’ and I’m only a little bit embarrassed by it.

The fact that I have only £100 left in the bank to last me 2 weeks before pay day no longer feels like a funny challenge. It’s just sad and led to me giving myself a good talking to about lack of budgeting and irresponsible behaviour. Fair enough, I had a great time, but having to explain to my kids a few years down the line that Mum spent their lunch money on a bottle of wine or a burrito isn’t going to fly.

I can no longer watch America’s Next top Model without gagging. I used to tune into Tyra Banks religiously when I was younger, sobbing that I wasn't as emaciated as the poor victims of Miss Jay’s criticism. It could be personal growth, but actually I've just traded in for Housewives of Beverley Hills instead…

On reflection, these changes are definitely for the better. Drinking with friends where you can actually have a conversation is always more favourable than attempting sign language while having beer tipped down your back, and public displays of affection are no less special when they’re kept conservative. As long as the nights with friends and the moments of intimacy are still there, I suppose the way it happens is just a change of style. 

 photo homeeee_zps214aed0e.jpg


Post a Comment