10 quickfire reasons why I’m happy to be nearly 30

I’m 30 soon. All my late twenties, 30 has loomed like a cloaked figure on a misty street, one gnarled finger beckoning me to some dark and terrible fate involving wrinkles, grey hairs, dead eggs, big bills, bigger hangovers, new fat deposits and a keener sense of my own mortality. Interestingly, the closer I creep…

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Bumbags and birthdays

“Where did you get that from? Guatemala? Honduras?” I followed the Waitrose check-out lady’s gaze to my crotch area. Ah yes, I was wearing a multicoloured bumbag. Not for fashion reasons obviously, but as a nifty hands-free receptacle for any guinea pig grass I happened to find on my walk (I live in quite a…

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Goodbye twenty-seven, I will never see you again

Each and every year, on the final day before my birthday, my internal monologue postpones business as usual and gets stuck in an infuriating loop of: ‘this is the last time I’m going to [insert activity] as an [insert age] year-old’. Today is my last day of being 27 and I just got back from the…

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