Signs I’m getting older…

Just four weeks away from my 30th birthday and I ain’t no spring chicken anymore…  here’s why…

• Radio 1 annoys the hell of me (but I haven’t started listening to Radio 2 or 4 yet!
• I prefer a night snuggling in front of X Factor with dinner and a glass of wine than throwing out shapes and drinking from pint glasses
• After playing sport it takes me two days to stop aching instead of one
• After a night on the wine it takes me two days to recover rather than one
• I avoid wearing high heels at all costs because they hurt my feet
• I write a comprehensive list before I go food shopping, rather than hungrily snatch random food off the shelves and arrive home to find I have nothing that combines to make an actual meal
• I don’t shop for make-up in my lunch hour anymore, I go home and watch Murder She Wrote
• Socialising isn’t my main priority, it’s sleeping
• I would rather pay full price for things than endure the sheer hell that is sale shopping
• I use anti-aging sun cream, rather than super tanning sun cream
• People compliment me on my cardigan collection
• I more often than not take my white wine with a dash of soda water these days, my head prefers it that way
• I can no longer stuff my face free of consequences. If I stuff my face I look Like I’m carrying a food baby in my stomach
• Dinner parties have suddenly become way more appealing than nights out on the pop. How very civilised
• I have absolutely nothing in common with my 15-year-old sister. In fact, I think she speaks a different language to me.
• When asked what I want for my birthday or Christmas I reply with “Well, cinema vouchers would be useful,” or “I could really do with a new blender”.
• I can no longer face going out two nights in a row. I need a night off in between social engagements so I can recover.
• I am one of the oldest players on my netball team. I’m not a good player anymore, I’m “experienced”
• Kids I used to babysit for are now old enough to buy alcohol
• A day out now is now more likely to be a trip to Asda than a trip to Alton Towers
• I can’t get away with wearing short skirts or dresses without tights or leggings underneath to protect my modesty. It just looks trashy
• The most used word in my vocabulary is tired.

The big 3-0

The dreaded 3-0 – a number I don’t like to say out loud too often – is rapidly approaching and my friends get no end of pleasure in rubbing my aging nose in this fact.

As well as laughing in my face at the impending doom of leaving behind my 20s – a lot of my mates are a wee bit younger than me – they’re also bugging me about how I’m going to celebrate this monstrous event. They all want in on it, apparently.

Now, here’s my quandary. Do I really want to celebrate something that I’m pretty desperate to avoid? Do I really want to flag up the fact that I can no longer hang with the kids, get away with wearing ridiculously short skirts or drink without spewing up my intestines the next day? I’m not sure so.

Usually I’m dead keen to celebrate a birthday – it’s a chance for people to lavish me with gifts and shower me with attention, of course. But my birthday falls a fortnight from Christmas and this causes problems in itself. I can’t plan anything too extravagant because people are super skint and super busy in December, with all manner of festive celebrations dominating their diaries. So I don’t want to force them to empty their less-than-bulging bank accounts on my behalf. Equally, I don’t want to organise a full-on party when only a handful of people will turn up. I’d never live it down.

So, this year, what I actually want to do is nothing. My birthday’s on a Monday anyway, not the greatest day to turn 30, so I’d rather book the day off work, go Christmas shopping and drown my sorrows in homemade mulled wine and festive films. God, I’m getting old aren’t I!

What did you do to celebrate your 30th birthday? I want to know what I may well be missing…

A Cornish weekend

As much as I loved my long weekend in Cornwall, I was a little bit gutted to leave behind the sunny skies of Milton Keynes for the torrential rain of Lanivet, near Bodmin. Sod’s law.

Still, while blue skies would have been fantastic, it didn’t dampen our spirits one iota. Eight of us had a fab time, staying here, for my mate Jonesy’s 33rd birthday.

Festivities included a meal in the clubhouse courtesy of Jonesy’s brother (nice one); a dip in the hot tub (half the water spilled out with eight bodies in there, whoops); a DVD pub quiz (we’re all pretty thick, it appears); a shower with music, water jets, steam machine and fancy lighting (defo the way to wash); beers and dancing to top 90s tunes (Liz does the robot dance like a demon, Mandy does not); and drinking games (old school games are the best!).

Oh yes, and the highlight was lunch at Jamie Oliver’s restaurant, Fifteen, at Watergate Bay. Despite the blustery and wet day, the beach view was fabulous and so was the food – octopus for starters, veal and beef ragu for main (me and a mate shared two dishes) and chocolate nemesis for pudding. Yummers. Really liked the informal and relaxed atmosphere too, lots of buzz about the place and the modern and funky decor rocked. I’m defo making a return visit.

Happy birthday to me

Today I am 29 and I’ve had nothing but abuse about my age. Even my parents think it’s hilarious that my next birthday will the big 3-0 and friends have signed cards “happy nearly 30th”, “to my old mate Rob” and “enjoy your last year in your 20s”. Thanks friends.

So, I am a little bit sensitive about the age thing and my friends and relatives find it a great source of amusement. It’s not that I mind too much about being 29, more that life is passing by so quickly and there’s so much stuff I want to do. But I guess I’ll be a bit sorry to leave my 20s behind too. Plus, my hangovers are getting worse by the week and I’m needing more and more recovery time after a very late night. Hence, why I have spent the majority of my birthday ensconsed in the duvet ,watching festive films and stuffing seasonal food down my neck.

So, I would like year of being 29 t be a good one. Here’s a few things I’m going to aim for:

• Accessorise more. I’ve had lots of lovely jewellery for my birthday and I should make more of an effort to wear it. In fact, I should just make more of an effort. If you look good, you feel good.
• Sign up for The Open University’s Start Writing Fiction course. I’ve always wanted to write a book and I’m hoping this short course might spur me on.
• Read more. And not the crime fiction novels that litter my bedside table either. I need to be reading more intelligent stuff and more current affairs stuff. The subscription to Heat magazine – what a load of shite it really is, I have just realised – has been cancelled.
• Be fit and healthy. I already play plenty of sport but I need to top up my fitness and generally be a bit healthier – so more walking to work (when it’s warmer outside), exercise classes and five portions a day. Of fruit and veg, that is! And I really need to listen to the physio and do my exercises.
• Catch up with old buddies, even the ones who live far away. Friends are precious and I’d like to spend more time with mine.

Nearly 29 and none the wiser

As I rapidly approach my 29th birthday, eek, I wonder if I will ever grow out of doing totally stupid things – like getting totally plastered and feeling so ill the next day I almost call an ambulance out.

Okay, slight exaggeration; no ambulances. But, cripes, when will I learn that teetering around in a dress and high heels, drunk as a skunk and slurring my words, is not ladylike. And the hangover that follows is a complete waste of a day and the closest I’ll get to ever feeling like a corpse. Until I actually die, that is.

It was the volleyball Christmas do at the weekend – dinner, drinks, karaoke and dancing, and yet more drinks. As one of the organisers of this event I feel I ought to make an extra special effort to ensure it goes well and so conjured up a pass the parcel game to start off the festivities – with a framed photo of me and my fellow social secretary as the prize. Superb! It went down well.

But I also feel like I need to get drunk too, for some reason, and usually with some speed. And if I’m not merry by the time the main course comes out, then I feel I have to double up on drinkage. Stoopid, stoopid girl.

Anyhoo, the night was a blast and I particularly enjoyed mine and LJ’s rendition of Whitney H’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody and the volleyball boys’ Bohemian Rhapsody. Tuneful!

I rolled into my mate’s house at 3am ish, remembering very little – except I needed to get to the bathroom quickly! I’ll spare you the graphics, but I awoke the next morning in full make-up, dangly earrings still in place, and feeling like someone had bashed me around the head with a frying pan. Ugh!

A bacon and egg sarnie later – which didn’t stay down long – and I attempted the hour-long drive home as my mate had a family emergency to attend to. Bad move. With barely enough strength to hold the steering wheel and trying desperately not to vom in my own lap, I made the dangerous and no doubt illegal drive home.

On arrival, I collapsed in my bed and there I stayed for the whole day. It wasn’t until 6.30pm that I was able to keep solids down and I just felt awful. Hopefully, a lesson learned, ‘cos at the moment the thought of touching alcohol makes me tremour!

So, when I hit the grand age of 29 next week will this silly behaviour stop? I’d like to think so – and it does happen less and less frequently now I’m getting on a bit – but there are bound to be a few bloopers. Hopefully no more this year though, at least!

Growing old gracefully… kinda

It’s my buddie CK’s 30th birthday bash tomorrow night and I’m very much looking forward to it. This is for several reasons:

• She’s older than me – I always like people who are older than me
• It’ll give me ideas on how to celebrate my own 30th next year. Late next year I hasten to add
• There will be cheesy dance music from the 80s and 90s. Rock on
• You can’t beat a good finger buffet
• There will be single men in attendance and CK has offered to play Cilla
• I’m going with some girl mates from work – always a good chance to gossip about the things that can’t be said in the office
• We’re starting the evening off with cocktails. Yum
• Chance to wear a dress, get my legs out and pretend I’m a lady (this depends on alcohol consumption though)

I always thought there’d be a time when I actually felt like a grown up but it hasn’t happened yet. Are we growing old gracefully? Er… kinda.

Splashing the cash

Why is it that colds only strike when you least want them to? They seem to know about birthdays, holidays and Christmas and leave it until the last minute to wriggle their way into your immune system and make you feel grotty.

I am two days away from a birthday, 12 days away from a holiday and 13 days away from Christmas, so it couldn’t be worse timing that my nose has started running, is bright red and I sneeze at regular intervals. Generally, I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself.

I’m off work tomorrow and maybe I did want to spend the day in bed- although not with a massive supply of tissues, a hot water bottle and a Lemsip. More likely with a latte, good book and a hunky man (any volunteers? Brad? George?).

Well, I won’t be spending the day in my pit of slumber (well, maybe Brad could persuade me should he come knocking on my door) ‘cos I’ll be shopping. Yes, I have done the majority of my Chrimbo shopping already – not to be efficient – but so I can indulge in a day of splashing the cash on myself.

This cold will not beat me. And what better cure than a pair of new knee-high boots, a few spangly tops, and a vat of mulled wine on my return. In fact, I’m feeling better already.