I reckon I spent a goodly amount of time looking forward to being an adult. I wanted to be able to wear fancy bras and travel, eat and bonk with abandonment.
And here I am, a fully fledged grown up and it’s friggin boring. It’s all road tax, food shops and picking Weetabix out of the carpet. I hate that I now associate July with insurance renewals. I AM SO BORING. And there’s so much I don’t know any more: bands, fashions, slang, dating etiquette, how to pronounce the word ‘memes’. I recently had to text my god-daughter to ask her what tumblr is. I AM SO OLD.
Anyway, the good news is I’ve found a solution to feeling ancient and boring: marry someone older. I could make a brew in the time it takes me to scroll down down down to the early ’80s, but I’m always heartened that AO is a good nose pick further down. Together, we had the foresight to move to an area where are friends and neighbours are mostly retired and that makes us feel like maybe we’re the ‘young couple’ and at a Bon Jovi tribute concert on Cromer pier recently we were the youngest by easily a decade.
And it’s not all bad because we do get to travel…in our minds…in the travel section of The Times. And we do get to eat what we want because who wouldn’t want to eat spaghetti hoops at 4.30pm from the toddler’s reject pile and, as for bonking with abandonment, well, that’s between me and the wig wearer but let’s just say things can get steamy in the 40 mins between kids’ bedtime and Strictly…