30 Going on 18

Last June I spoke to my friend F a couple of days after her 31^st birthday. I originally rang to wish her belated happy returns, sure she would have done something incredibly glamorous to mark the occasion.

“What did you do to celebrate?” I asked.

“Well”, she said “We went to (insert name of cool bar) and then I drank too much by accident and I was sick on the pavement outside.”

I began to laugh, and still chuckle every time I remember this conversation. You see, what I found the most funny about this story is that the ending to F's 31^st birthday is probably very similar to the ending to her 21^st. And her 18^th. And her 15^th. Come to think of it, the steps of the Midland bank (as it was then) in my home town still bear the traces of the Ouzo that F

upchucked after the special birthday “mixture” I'd kindly made for her from my parents' booze cupboard made a reappearance. The conversation made

me ponder on whether we have actually changed at all over the past fifteen years. One would hope so. Here we are, both with “respectable jobs” and adult lives, paying rent (in F's case) and a mortgage (in mine). And as F pointed out the other day, we even have nails! Proper long ones, with polish on! In fact I even got a manicure yesterday. And as I mentioned in one of my first posts, I can (nearly) walk in heels now!

Yesterday I got ID'ed whilst buying wine in Tesco's. It happened last week as well. Incredibly flattering it may be, but it's also kind of annoying. I want to shout “ I'm grown up, look! I'm going to go home and consume this 5.99 bottle of red responsibly with a nice dinner, not drink it behind the bandstand in the park (although I do still enjoy a can of sweet cider, especially in hot weather!) But after drinking at least half a bottle, I'm still going to giggle uncontrollably, talk loudly about sex and generally act in an immature, indiscreet manner, much in the same way as I would have done at fifteen. Nice.

There are some things I still do that mark me out as a teenager trapped in a woman's body. For your perusal, I have listed a few below:

1. I find farts or mention of any other bodily function incredibly funny.
2. I can spend hours examining my face in the mirror and squeezing my blackheads
3. In my opinion, New Look is the way forward – especially for shoes.
4. I have an encyclopaedic knowledge of celebrity culture, gleaned from the pages of the kind of magazines that cost no more than 99p.
5. I would rather spend my hard earned cash on the above-mentioned trashy magazines and expensive cosmetics than on getting my car fixed. It's been tricky having a passenger door that doesn't open, but hey, I've managed!
6. When I feel ill, depressed, or just generally down, I call my Mum. I can always count on unconditional love and sympathy from her.
7. When I have a problem with my computer/car/central heating/ Tv or anything else technological or mechanical, I call my Dad. He's my solicitor/mechanic/ plumber and business adviser all rolled into one.
8. When I get excited, I say “Y'know” a lot at the end of sentences. Y'Know?
9. My friends and I swap clothes on a regular basis. My friends J and A regard my wardrobe as theirs and vice versa. It's like having three times as many clothes! They also have free rein on my make up bag and shoes.
   
   
10. When thinking about my future, I often start sentences with the words “When I grow up....”

I could probably go on for pages here, but you get the picture...

Recently though, I have begun to morph into this weird half and half being, a sulky teenager with grey hair, a young person with strangely right wing values. For example, I do like to listen to Radio 4 occasionally. Desert Island Discs is extremely informative. I also like to watch the News every day – when did I become interested in current affairs? Ditto University Challenge – and I got six questions right last week – get in! I find it scandalous to leave the house with chipped nail polish and I now carry sensible 'just in case' items in my bag – emergency healthy snacks, an umbrella and olbas oil scented tissues. Again, when did that happen?

And gardening. That's another middle aged hobby that I've started to take an interest in. I now looooove garden centres. I remember when a visit to Percy Thrower's was grounds for a full on teenage strop. Nowadays, I can happily browse bedding plants and hose fittings for hours and I do actually grow things - I ate the first squash from my garden for my tea last night! How frightfully civilized darling.....

However, the biggest indicator of change for me is that whenever I stay with F in London and we go salsa dancing, we now get the last tube home. In the good old days (two years ago) we'd drink our own body weight in cocktails, and stagger to the night bus after being escorted to the kebab shop by a couple of nice young men we'd have met that night. We'd pretend to take their numbers and then brave the wind and rain at the bus stop, stuffing our faces with whatever undesirable carb based offering we'd managed to find. We'd giggle the two hour journey home back to North London, dissecting the night and the men we'd met in minute detail, only pausing for breath to get off at the (wrong) stop. In fact, I distinctly remember limping home one summer morning at 5 am as the birds were singing, salsa rhythms still pounding in my head. Nowadays, however, we leave at 11.45 and we're home by 1. It's all very civilized, and it means you don't feel as ill the next day. Also you don't wake up with chilli sauce stains around your mouth, which as far as I'm concerned is a bonus.

Anyway, I need to stop because Gardener's Question Time is on in a minute. But I'll be catching up on my celebrity gossip at the same time. I've got this week's copy of Star magazine that hasn't been opened yet and I'm absolutely dying to read about how Jordan and Alex are about to get a divorce. Then I'm off to get drunk at the park.