Post 467 - 31 is the new 21

So I turned 31 a couple of weeks ago. Remember when you were 21, and 31 sounded ancient? I expected to have the wife, kids, family car, 9-5 job, mortgage I can't pay and the dog by this age, but it hasn't really worked out for me that way. Yeah I have the 9-5 job in the office, and I'm in a happy, stable long-term relationship, but the rest is still something for the future, and in truth, apart from being a bit more sensible, having mellowed out a fair bit and having a few extra inches on my waistline, I really don't feel that much different now to how I did at 21. I still enjoy a Friday night in the pub with mates (though I'm a more inclined towards quiet pubs with plenty of seats nowadays than doing tequila shots through my eyeball in Moshulu with my trousers round my ankles). I still pretend to be a rock star at the weekends. I still dress like I went on a blindfolded trolley-dash in a Salvation Army store. And I still permanently like as though I just woke up. It's funny how no-one ever tells you that although you may look older, you don't feel older.

The only thing that really has changed over the past few years is how I drink. As mentioned above, I can't be bothered with noisy bars and clubs these days, I much prefer a nice quiet pub where I can get a decent pint in a proper glass, or a tasty, well mixed gin & tonic, and enjoy it sitting round a table with friends. Not standing at the bar for 25 minutes waiting to get served and having the idiot barman bringing me wrong drinks because he couldn't hear what I was asking for, and then having to stand around bellowing into my mates ears to try and have a conversation. Uh uh. That's not how this boy rolls any more. As for nightclubs? Nae bastard chance. Gone also are the days of "the pubs shut at 3am, lets get as fucking steaming as possible before they close" pouring garishly-coloured shots down my neck, stumbling out at 3am, devouring some unidentifable sloppy nonsense from a kebab shop, getting home and passing out on the sofa fully clothed and waking up with a microwave cheeseburger under my ass. (Yes that actually happened). Most nights out now end with me grabbing a sandwich and a bag of crisps from the 24 shop on Crown Street and getting home for a nice cup of tea and a sit down. There are still occasions (such as my 31st birthday for example!) where I drink a bitty too much and go into that "special place" where I turn into a lush, determined to sit at the bar and pour gin down my throat, but even then I'm still compus mentus enough to make my own way home, get in, brush my teeth, undress and go to bed. I'm past the age of being found passed out in a pishy doorway, getting carried home and waking up in the morning in the hallway using an ironing board as a duvet - which, lets face it, is probably for the best.

Song currently stuck in my head - "Jammin'" by Bob Marley.
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