On being old

I turned 30 this year, an age which my mother has always told me I have been anyway. However, the physical reality catching up with the mental does seem to be having an additional effect. I became painfully aware of this yesterday afternoon.

Of a weekend, I will frequently find myself in Brighton, because it is awesome. This weekend, though, is the 6th Annual Brighton Crawl of the Dead, where fans of zombies everywhere dress up as such and stagger around pubs for fun and frolics. This year they are finishing up at the Duke of York's cinema for an all-night zombie film fest.

I know this because I googled it. I found a poster outlining the itinerary. Then I found myself right clicking and saving as. Yes, I had just saved a poster with the express intention of using the information to avoid my path crossing that of any revellers whatsoever.

Is this a new and worrying sign? I racked my brains. The conclusion I reached, sadly, is no. I now present a list of things I do, say or think to prove it. A damning list it is indeed.

1. I own, and use, one of those "No trick or treat" signs old people put up on their front door.
2. I think BBC iPlayer "is nifty".
3. I resolutely refuse to get a smart phone because my old Nokia "does everything I want from a phone perfectly well".
4. I've started going to bed at 9 o'clock to read a book.
5. I've started to try and avoid certain foods too close to bedtime in the way other people avoid live grenades.
6. I make a noise when I bend over.
7. I refuse to use abbreviations on Twitter.

In the modern, Western democracy, 30 years old is still young. It is just that I am the oldest person I know.