26

Over the past couple of months, a number of things have made me increasingly aware of the fact that I’m closer to thirty than I am to twenty. 

The first of these realisations was when Radio 1 recently rebranded the Breakfast Show. When Chris Moyles presented it, I quite enjoyed my journey to work, especially on a Tuesday (when I say pub, you say quiz – pub – quiz! - pub – quiz! When I say Rob, you say DJ – Rob – DJ! – Rob – DJ! When I say fan, you say dabbydozy – fan – dabbydozy! - fan – dabbydozy! etc...)  But then Nick Grimshaw took over and I thought he was crap. His laugh is annoying and I care not one bit for his choice of subject matter. Suddenly I felt shunted from the Radio 1 target demographic and I wanted the pub quiz back. As soon as I realised that nobody was making me listen to the drivel, I switched over to Classic FM (which is normally reserved for the holidays) but it’s not exactly the upbeat kick start I need each day. Not thinking that there were other alternatives, I switched off altogether and spent a week or two trundling along in the morning with my own thoughts. But then I realised that there might actually be other options. So I flicked hopefully through the airwaves one morning until I found what I was looking for: Radio 2. I didn’t ever think I’d find solace in Chris Evans but now he, along with Lynn and Vassos, are my little morning crew. But Radio 2 is for old people. Ergo, I’m old.

Secondly, I have a confession to make: my hair colour isn’t entirely natural. If I don’t get it dyed in the next couple of weeks, I will have a more than a few white hairs infiltrating my youthful chestnut locks. I’ve dyed my hair relatively regularly for a few years now but I had the scary realisation today that for a while I’ve been getting it dyed out of necessity, which means I’ll continue to need to visit my colourist every seven to eight weeks until it becomes acceptable to let go and sport the salt and pepper look. This is at least another twenty years away, which means that I’m going to be spending over £6000 of my hard earned money on keeping my hair brown. Yikes. What's more worrying is that it won’t be long before I can say that I have a relationship with my colourist.

I also seem to be partaking in significantly more conversations about marriage and babies than I did so in my early twenties. I’ve received enough wedding invites now to justify having a pretty little box to keep them in and, although The Boyfriend doesn’t know it yet (he does now), I have allowed myself to jot down an idea or two from weddings I have attended, you know, because one day they could potentially come in useful. Also, a close friend has recently announced that she’s with child, which is unbelievably exciting, so I’ve been imparting as much advice as I can from my extensive experience of One Born Every Minute. She also asked for baby name ideas and I had a ‘Monica’ moment when I was genuinely hesitant to offer up my favourites just in case she liked them too much. I’m also a bit jealous of her buying a baby names book. (I’ve secretly always wanted one. Not joking.)

Eek!