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Oh Fuck, I’m 49.
I mean really. That just doesn’t compute. I had to check myself several times when I said it out loud. I must have made some mistake. I meant 39 didn’t I? Oh no, that happened a couple of years back, now I think about it. But how could I be 49?
I took the day off in “celebration†and to help me process the truth that my life is essentially over and left almost everything much too late. Oh come on Rich, you’re probably only halfway through your life (if that) and you’re only 29 years into your career - so at most only a third of my working life is gone. There’s still time. Keep telling yourself that. There’s still time.
My daughter didn’t seem willing to make the day about me though and took centre stage as always, even getting in on opening my presents with me. She even opened the card from herself. Almost like she didn’t recognise it, which can’t be the case as she had signed it.
We had plans to go on some day trips but we were pretty wiped out. We took Phoebe to a dance class, where she was more interested in exploring the room than moving to the beat (but I think she had fun anyway) and then we were caught up in a rain storm and ducked into the first restaurant we passed for lunch. It was a very swanky Indian place as it turned out and the food was lovely. As we left the waiter asked what Phoebe’s name was and once told got very excited as it confirmed his suspicions that I was the guy who wrote the Metro articles. He was very pleased to meet me and loved the fact that I had written about the nearby Caffe Nero toilets recently. It doesn’t usually strike me how far and wide those articles go, but it was a nice birthday gift to find a fan of them in an unexpected place (though too late for him to give me some free poppadoms, which would have been nicer).
We then took Phoebe to soft play, which would have felt like a birthday party for me had I not been too big to climb up the slides and stuff. I didn’t mind that the day wasn’t about me though. Though post RHLSTP my best present would have been a day in bed.
We did get some adult time, as my wife took me to a posh restaurant in town. On the way a stranger wished me happy birthday, which was odd, but also nice. He was super polite about it. He listened to the podcasts and presumably follows me on Twitter so was aware that this terrible day had arrived. Two people recognising me in one day? I am quite the superstar.
The restaurant was lovely, though full of privileged, entitled dicks, who all seemed to know each other, shouting and throwing bits of bread at each other. The average age was well over 49, but I guess only old, rich people can afford to go to restaurants now. My wife wondered if in a few decades posh restaurants would be empty, but I suspect more posh old people will appear to take the place of those that die. These people were so rich that one man had turned up wearing a jacket and some track suit bottoms. Had he not been in an expensive restaurant I would have assumed he was homeless. But when you’re super rich, wearing grotty track suit bottoms to a restaurant is actually an indication of your level of wealth and importance.
It didn’t spoil the night, as I was happy to be out having nice food with the woman I owe everything to and who has shown me what life is really about (and as discombobulating as it is to be in the last year of my forties already, I am just thankful that I am not still the man I was when I entered this decade - that I spent the day with her and my boisterous, uncontrollable daughter demonstrated that I have made a success of my 40s at least). Remarkably I got through the day without a drink. We’re nearly at the halfway point of our 100 alcohol free days and I am thinking of going on for longer. Maybe the alcohol blocks out the arseholes though. Or maybe it just turns you into one.
If you want to come and see me shake up the world of transgressive art by playing snooker against myself for much too long (i.e. longer than 30 seconds) then buy a day 8 ticket here.
Alas the man who cooks his own poo who was meant to be on before me couldn't get a visa sorted out, but that ticket means you can see all the artists for day 8 for just £11.
