I have been 30 for several weeks now. Nothing bad has happened, which is either to be seen as a positive proof that turning 30 is fine, or you could look at it the other way round and decide that getting old is so boring that nothing happens.
Speaking of desperate excitement, despite joining the National Trust, I have yet to visit one of its venerable properties. I must rectify the situation. I am considering a visit this weekend to one of the many historic properties and gardens that are dotted about these fair isles.
Likewise, I have decided that I’m going to have to make more of an effort and visit some museums and that. I need the cultural stimulus, in order to hold my own at the dinner parties to which I shall no doubt start receiving invites.
I tried reading Monocle magazine, because that’s what middle-aged men of a certain sophistication do. I only really bought it because it had a train on the front (who doesn’t love trains?), but it was so boring I could barely get past the first 20 pages. Leafing through the whole thing, I’m not even sure what the giant train on the cover was even referring to. That could just be the confusion setting in.
1 hour ago