The big hand on my biological clock clicked over again today; one more shuffling step towards grey hair, wrinkles and bladder control problems. There's something debilitating about being constantly aware of your own mortality, it's just not a nice way to live. My brain is still young enough to remember the invincible feeling of my early twenties, but my body aches just thinking about what I used to get up to.
I guess 29 isn't a bad age to be, you can stop drinking whenever you want without falling victim to peer-pressure. Although it's probably not because you're more mature, it's merely because you can't stay up late enough to drink that much any more. When I was 21, going out at 11.30 was the norm. 8 years later, if I'm not back by 11.30, you'd better start calling the hospitals, because I must have been mugged to have stayed out that late.
Anyway, so that I can watch the seconds tick over in the year before my 30th, Deb got me this cool watch: