Ah, the last day of my thirties and I managed to make it down for the gym for a swim. Over the last year I have usually put my clothes in locker 39, if it's been available, as a little nod to my age (also makes it easier to remember where my stuff i as I am old and forgetful), so today would be the last time I could do that. And locker 40 is a private locker, so I won't be able to put my stuff in there from tomorrow. So I will probably not go to the gym again. Because it's always important to have your things in a locker with the same number as how old you are.
I spent the last night of my thirties doing my show to some fairly non-plussed people in a golf club in West Ruislip. It was OK, nothing spectacular, I got through it, but the slightly more middle-aged crowd was not over delighted. I knew it would be hard work when I told them I was three and a half hours from my forties and they didn't really react in any way. But I was on first, going on cold and I plugged away and did my stuff and didn't get thrown and by the end I had won most of them round at least a little.
A few friends came along and we had a few drinks to mark the end of an era. I got the tube home and was walking along Shepherd's Bush Grey when midnight came, which was aptly anti-climactic. I didn't feel any different. But then I think I was born at 8am so I'd have to wait until I woke up to find out whether being 40 is going to be Fab or Fuckish. In eight hours, supposedly, my life would begin.
