Going out on the town is my idea of hell on earth

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It’s my birthday today and I’ve finally reached that age where it’s no longer about me.

How do I know this?

When asked what I’d like for my birthday, I had no answer.

I now seem to have everything I need. No gadgets, music, or clothes required. Nope, I’m happy with my lot.

I’ve also reached that age where I no longer like to say how old I actually am.

I look in the mirror and looking back at me is someone I don’t quite recognise. I see wrinkles and grey hairs appearing in my stubble.

Surely this is not correct?

The ultimate shock is now having to regularly pull long thin hairs that are growing out of my ears.

I have now acquired a pair of my wife’s tweezers precisely for this purpose.

I’ve also got to the age where going out on the town to celebrate said birthday is my idea of hell on earth.

The thought of being caught in a massive queue for the bar at Tiger Tiger, or shouting over loud music to have a conversation, fills me with dread.

Yes, I have now reached that age of maturity where a quiet country pub with a roaring fire and a fine selection of ales is the real deal.

Birthdays no longer have the same meaning.

All significant milestones have been reached and the next big one is retirement!!

Then again, I don’t think I’m done just yet.

There will be disappointment if I’m not spoilt just a little bit.

A full English for breakfast, no doubt vouchers for Marks & Spencer and a lovely cake, although it would need to be rather large now to fit on all the candles needed.

Tonight we’re off to TGI Fridays with friends.

I’m looking forward to seeing everyone and ordering a rack of ribs so big that Fred Flintstone would be happy to have them.

But I reckon I’ll end up resorting to being a grumpy old git if they think I’m going to stand on a chair with a cupcake lit with a sparkler whilst fellow diners are required to join in the singing of Happy Birthday.