An eternity ago, when I was editorial director of TV Week magazine, I worked with a bright young lad called Thomas.
He’s now a columnist for Executive Style and this week he wrote a piece called “No more bath sex and other weird things about turning 30”.
I was a little taken aback … and not about the bath sex.
I literally couldn’t compute that he’d only just turned 30. He must have been a child when he was at TV Week.
The second thing I couldn’t compute was that he thought 30 was old. His column talks about fashion choices no longer being available to him, his hair greying and having to take Metamucil.
He ain’t seen nuthin yet.
He’ll look back one day and realise 30 was breathtakingly young. So, so young.
Just wait til he discovers what 50 has in store for him.
As one of his commenters said: “Haha great article Thomas! Loved it! Pee’d myself laughing – something for you to look forward to in your 50’s!”
Actually, I’m not sure 50-year-old men pee when they laugh, but you get the general idea.
The thing I found least shocking about Thomas’ column was his hilarious discussion of the perils of bath sex.
I don’t think I’ve ever had bath sex, but I’m pretty old, so maybe I’ve forgotten. It sounds pretty unappealing at any age, just a recipe for bruised knees and a slip injury on the tiles afterwards.
Mind you, there are similar issues with car sex at 48, except with bruises in different places and less guilt about water restrictions.
Anyways … back to this crazy 30 is so ooooold notion …
I can’t quite get my head around it. I think 30 is peak young.
Everything is still so firm and life is full of infinite possibilities.
I miss my firm 30-year-old face and not being immediately relegated to the too-old pile.
Though there are lots of things about being in my 50s that I’m quite happy to keep.
One of my favourites is finally starting to understand what I want and finding my voice to ask for it.
I don’t think I’d swap a firm face for the loss of that awareness.
And while my eyesight may be getting a bit dodgy, I see so much more than I ever did in my youth.
I was oblivious to natural beauty back then. Now I find it incredibly moving.
DD and I were fantasising last week about where we’d go if we won the jackpot lottery – it’s up to some insane amount at the moment. He said New York or New Zealand.
I was momentarily torn. New York has the razzle dazzle, it felt like the one I should choose. But my heart yearned for the quiet magic of the South Island – the mountains and the lakes and the fjords!
That’s my idea of holiday bliss, not 5th Avenue.
Trump is welcome to it. Fingers crossed he retires to his Tower soon.
And check out Thomas’ column, I like his style.
Song of the day: Richard Clapton “Deep water”