So this is it. Today, I officially start my fiftieth year of being on this planet. At least I’ve got an extra day of being 49 – thanks Leap Year.
It’s a strange feeling, counting down to 50. I always thought that by this age I’d be grown up and sensible and have my life sorted out. Perhaps I’ll have achieved that by my hundredth. Until this year, I’d never even considered myself middle-aged – but then I started a new job and looked around at all the shiny-faced youths I was now working with. We had a training session the other day and they all carried laptops and I had a notebook and a cup of tea. I’ve turned into that old hack in the corner with a mouldy cardigan and a fag hanging out of his mouth – without the fag. And the mouldy cardy. And I’m not a man, but you know what I mean.