A couple of weeks ago I turned twenty-eight. TWENTY-EIGHT. Oh, you already knew? You heard my screams from across the other side of the internet?
Just joking. I'm totally fine with the new and varied ways my knees crack when I sit down, and couldn't be more relaxed about how much hair I'm now sprouting from both ears. Plus, this means I still have two whole years to finish that 30 things before 30 list I did 12 months ago.
Shall we check in and see how I'm getting on?
Purchase a Dyson vacuum cleaner. Booyah! Purchase a KitchenAid. Yeah! Go, my wallet.
- Purchase a tailored suit so I can attend weddings looking like an adult male rather than an unusually hairy child who’s broken into his father’s wardrobe.
- Purchase an apricot labradoodle named Scrumpy.
Sort out somekind of pension. I am half scoring out this one because I sat down with a financial advisor, downloaded the application form, and just haven't sent it off yet. Wooo me. I am the greatest.
- Begin saving money with a view to eventually purchase a first property (we’re probably looking at sometime nearer my 60th birthday for that). 70 is now looking more realistic, thanks London.
- Finish the first, partially written novel that’s been floating around in my head and various notebooks for over TEN YEARS GODDAMMIT. This is still definitely going to happen. I cannot even begin to tell you how many writing apps I've bought and not yet tried out.
- Learn how to consistently poach eggs. These days I prefer scrambled, so...
- Learn how to talk knowledgably about wine in polite company. I went to a wine tasting in April but emerged with only the beginnings of a hangover and not even the merest drop of new-found wine wisdom. What more can I do, readers??! I tried.
- Learn some rudimentary French so I can order bread and cheese in Paris without embarrassing myself.
- Earn some £££ from words what I myself have written.
- Consistently maintain this blog for three years – and with posts, rather than pointless, obsessive template tweaks. One year down, two to go. 108 posts of thrilling online 'content' can't be wrong.
- Either accept myself as someone who just has two chins, or find a sustainable way to return to a weight of 70kg that doesn’t involve wanting to kill myself and all my loved ones. So the good news is I haven't gained weight. Odd, given the number of cheesecakes I've been eating.
- Give up my can-a-day addiction to Diet Coke. Lols.
- Give up the internet one day each week. Double lols.
Find myself a London dentist. VICTORY!
- Do Glastonbury for the first and last time.
- Do a marathon for the first and last time.
- Knit a hat.
- Visit one of the continents I’ve not been to yet (ie. not Europe or North America).
- Drink cocktails in New York to make up for that time I went for my 21st birthday but was still actually only 20.
- Complete Final Fantasy VII, some 20 years after I first started playing it. An iOS version is allegedly on the way this summer so, again, this is Definitely Going to Happen.
- Decide once and for all whether or not to get a tattoo. If not, spend the money on a life-supply of temporary transfers instead. Sam Smith got the anchor I was um-ing and ah-ing over so it's back to the drawing board with this one I'm afraid.
- Go Skiing.
- Create a viable sourdough starter (ie. one without mould) and perfect the art of breadmaking (ie. not burning down the flat). I tried last month and it went mouldy again
- Read the 65 and a half books on this list I haven’t got round to yet. I watched the film version of Bridget Jones' Diary last night, by my calculations that brings this down to 64.5.
- Listen through the Beatles’ entire discography to figure out if I actually don’t like them or whether, aged 10, that was just something I decided to believe in order to frustrate and defy my parents. Did you know the Beatles aren't even on Spotify? I certainly didn't when I wrote this list.
- Sort through the nightmarish filing box of confusing life paperwork I keep upstairs in the study, at the significant risk of discovering every payslip I’ve ever received since 2005. Urgh, do I have to.
- Toast the end of each and every one of the next 156 weeks with a glass of whisky and the acknowledgement that life is never as bad as I might occasionally think it is. 52 down, not counting the handful of occasions where hangovers and/or gin got in the way.
- DON’T DIE. Still alive, world - and hairier than ever!
I know this looks bad, but unless you also have the wherewithal to buy and own a KitchenAid and might possibly know how to grow unmouldy sourdough then frankly I don't want to hear it.
I have all the time in the world. Cheryl Cole turned 28 just after she got fired from X Factor USA, and look where she is now: X Factor UK, sat next to Rita Ora.