Age changes

So. I'm 30.

Now I know my boyish good looks, full head of hair and wrinkle-free skin may suggest otherwise but believe me, I've hit a milestone in my life.

It's weird how we give such ages so much meaning. On two occasions I've been told odd things about hitting my third decade.

On hearing about my birthday, the delightful ladies in the features department broke the news to me: 'Ah 30. That's when men go mad.'

I'm taking this as a complement. I mean, it suggests that I haven't lost it already. It means that, compared to some people, I'm relatively normal.

However, I will do my best not to swim against the tide on this. And my mum has helped me. To go on Monty I now have a horn (ahem).

I. Love. That.

Not only will I be the man with the weird Union Flag safety-hat on his head, but also the man riding the mountain bike with the really loud, clown-like horn.

Sod the bell, I'm making some noise.

A quick aside. My family surprised me a week ago to spend my birthday with me. It was lovely to see them. We had a great time watching the rugby, eating and drinking.

While they were up Si, an extra brother, told me: '30 - it's when your body changes.'

That's as much as I got from him.

I'm not sure if I'm going to get taller, grow bulging muscles or something I've yet to expect.

Whatever it is, I hope it's something obvious. That way I can point to those younger than me and explain.

'See these gills? That's what's happening when you turn 30. See these Hobbit-like feet? 30.'

'These dreadlocked mutton chops? 3.0.'

I can but dream.

Hopefully, whatever it is, it'll be sorted before the big day.