REVELATIONS AND REVELRY

Happy birthday to me! I am twenty-nine today! Or as someone on Twitter pointed out – “twenty-wine”, which I thought very appropriate. As I have approached this semi-landmark birthday (as in it’s the last one of my twenties) I have discovered through discussions with friends that turning twenty-nine seems to be a bit of a sticking point in some peoples’ lives. Almost without exception everyone of a similar age that I have mentioned it to has shuddered and said “Oh don’t. Twenty-nine this year, thirty next. I can’t believe it. Where does the time go?” Well this last might be accurate, time does seem to fly past at the speed of sound, but I don’t mind. I can’t WAIT to be thirty. It will be like entering a new phase of my life, I shall be grown-up and mature and life will be different as I move on. I will have different concerns and preferences. I shall do different things (out with the belly-dancing, in with the yoga), I shall wear different clothes (out with the Jack Wills, in with the Joules, Quba Sails, Boden, Monsoon) and I imagine that I shall have different preoccupations, aims and focuses. I don’t know what they will be yet, but that’s part of the fun. This may sound trite, and even overly-optimistic, but I aim and expect to embrace each stage of life as it comes. The shuddering, similarly-aged friends have said “Yes, but thirty! That’s OLD.” So? We age. You can’t stop it, you can’t turn back the clock. And interestingly, the consensus seems to be that you are happy to move on if you are content with what you have achieved in your life so far. Which I must be, I suppose, because I am still excited about getting older.

There is a flaw in the plan for this years’ celebrations however; I had my usual three-ring circus of events lined up – and then I developed an infection in my gum which is the second most painful thing I have ever had to endure. Labour being the first. In terms of childbirth that is, not the political party. It’s been so bad that I haven’t even wanted to celebrate. Rare indeed. Each twenty-four hour period in my life has been ruled by when I can take the next dose of painkillers, “Eight paracetamol, eight ibuprofen in twenty-four hours is the maximum,” the surgery nurse informed me cheerfully. “They’ll knock you out but at least you won’t be in pain.” Brilliant. That should make tonight go with a swing. Tonight, you see, there are fifteen of us going out for dinner and drinks. I had meant to have a quiet birthday in preparation for the big one next year, but then it sort of spiralled…..

The upside of being ill is that I have had a lot of quiet time to think and reflect on my manuscript which is taking shape now. I am 85,000 words in and I am very pleased with it so far. I’m beginning to be afraid of finishing it, because I don’t like to be without a writing project and I have no clear idea what I will write next. I’m aware that I’m jumping the gun rather, but it doesn’t do to leave these things to chance. Although I did get an email through the other day about a short story competition which I thought I might enter. I don’t think that I’ve ever written a short story before so it would be a nice new thing to try. In other writing news I am getting very excited about attending Cari Rosen’s book launch in a couple of weeks time for her book “The Secret Diary of a New Mum, (aged 43 1/4)”. You should all keep an eye on the newspapers because I know she’s had a lot of media coverage. She has particularly enjoyed the photoshoots. And if you’re on Twitter and you don’t follow her, you should, she’s @cazroz and she is a lovely, clever, funny lady.

Right, I am going to go and continue enjoying my very first day of being twenty-nine, which means putting my new earrings in. And wearing my new perfume. And eating my new chocolate. And deciding which dress I shall wear tonight. And which shoes. And unfortunately it also means taking my next dose of painkillers…..it must be an age thing. I’m obviously getting old.