Thirty.

So. Thirty then.

When I was seventeen, back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, I thought that thirty was some distant strange far off land that one day some stranger in my skin might encounter. I never imaged it would actually be me staring down the barrel of middle age and daring myself to pull the trigger. You think you're going to live forever when you're that age and even if you do die you'll be all teenage drugs, opinions and snake-like hips until that day. It doesn't work like that.

HOWEVER that being said I want to be here, now at this age. A lot of people want to go back to being twenty one, I wouldn't swap my place for his for all the sweatshops in China. At twenty one I was a nervous stupid youth who wanted all the power with non of the responsibility when it all goes wrong. I've only just recently really learnt what that means, what it really means. I'm happy now, here in the situation I'm in. Okay job, nice house living with the person I adore more than anything on the earth and about to marry her. Why on earth would I swap that for early twenties acne, terrible terrible haircuts, crappy jobs where you're treated worse than scum, living with my parents and wasting my time by getting wasted?

I spent yesterday going through a mountain of old photos for the wedding and it was exactly the right thing to do. It showed me where I'd been, who I'd been with and what I had been doing for the last 10950 days of my life. And it showed me I've had a right laugh. And that where I'm going is just as important of where I've been.

I have:

Jumped off a Swiss mountain and parachuted to the valley below.
Worked abroad for six months for an American TV station,
Helped make a feature film that's available to buy on DVD.
Succeeded in gaining a degree in a hardcore science subject despite working full-time hours in a bar and having a brain leakier than your average colander.
Enjoyed a wrap party that lasted 48 hours starting in a Cardiff bar on a Friday night and ending Sunday afternoon on a beach with a bottle of mandarin vodka.
Watched Wales win their first grand slam in over twenty years.
Made someone laugh so hard they were nearly sick.
Shared icy beers in warm climes with cool people.
Made love in the surf with the ocean boiling around us.
Driven coast to coast in America in less than five days.
Been told a piece of my writing was superb by someone whose opinion on literature I respect.
Had my heart broken many times and broke someone else heart once. Only ever once.
Sang along with songs with friends at the top of my lungs in dingy clubs.
Fell in love with the most perfect woman who, against all laws of probability loves me back.
Felt the thrum and pulse of a city coming alive again.
Stood on a mountain top on my own and felt the touch of God.


So on the basis of that list when some slack jawed moron asks me "How does it feel to be thirty?" and I reply "F**king great." do you think that's justified?