Another birthday has just passed and I am now much closer to 40 than 35.
Come to think of it, my 30s haven’t been all that bad really.
I’ve always been a late developer in some respects. Maybe it was down to not moving away from the Isle of Wight until I was 23, but my 30s have made me.
At 30, I was still a bit wet behind the ears, letting life take me on its journey, not the other way round.
In my early 30s I got married, then soon after was divorced. This was very hard for me, but it was then I started taking life by the horns.
Looking back, I turned a disaster into a massive new adventure. I made great new friends and enjoyed reacquainting with old ones.
I went to places I’d never been and did things I’d never done. What a four years it’s been, like going back to my early 20s!
Now at 38, I sit here, looking around my former bachelor pad at a house very much with a woman’s touch.
For men, a house is generally a place to eat, sleep, hang out and watch telly. But for a woman, it’s very different. It’s a home.
In those four years, I hardly touched my bachelor pad. To me, it was perfect. A new house didn’t need any work, expect for the bright red accent wall behind the 42-inch TV screen.
Since my new partner moved in about a year ago, all hell has broken loose. The house has been recarpeted, the garden relandscaped and walls have been redecorated (that accent wall survives though).
Then there have been new sofas, a new bed and new furniture, even a new front door – and now she wants the bathrooms done!
Luckily, I hadn’t spent all my money on beer. Saying that, Sarah will kill me if I didn’t mention we went halves.
An adventure indeed. One that has taught me there is always light at the end of the tunnel.
But you have to get to it yourself, no-one will do it for you. Other great clichés are also true, as what doesn’t kill you certainly does make you stronger.
Now please excuse me, as I have to hang out the washing, empty the dishwasher and pick up her clothes from the dry cleaners.