Happy Birthday!

Today began the inexorable countdown to the big 3-0.

365 days to do all those things I'd promised I'd do before I was thirty.

Really, there were only three of those.

1: Move to America (almost there.)
2: Get my first book published (well, at least I've written it)
3: Earn a living writing (you call this a living?)

I'm completely astonished at how fast time has gone. Especially the last couple of years.

Where have they gone? What have I become? How come I look in the mirror and see somebody I hardly recognize? Can anybody tell me where the witless, but well dressed adventurer went and who this chubby, scrubby writer is?

During our week in France, I found a big box stuffed with photos. Pictures of my from years ago, when I was a kid living in Hampshire. Then more, from school in Devon, lots from university and then piles of smiling photos of me, looking sleek and well dressed for perhaps the only time in my life, with my arm paternally around the shoulders of myriad American girls with beautiful tans and big teeth.

Hard to think I spent my last summer in Paris over two years ago - and that was the end of an era. Since then I've become a veteran of the radio business. I say veteran - this is the kind of show in which people have short, glittering careers and then go a bit nuts and drive their cars through the door of their radio station. However the REAL vets, like my old boss Gordon Drummond, have been in it for donkey's years.

Anyway. Now I work in Media. I wear jeans to work. I don't shave every day. I have got a bit tubbier. I get grumpy if I don't eat lunch.

It's so weird to have 'grown up,' because I don't feel I have at all. My insecurities and ambitions burn just the same. I keep thinking I've got all the time in the world - but days like this make you realise it's trickling inexorably away.