Not 46 but not 26 either.

As of today, I'm 36. This is me before I left for work this morning. I added the hat and badge later

I don’t know what 36 is supposed to feel like but I don’t think I feel like I’m 36. Anymore than I felt like I was 35 yesterday. In my head I’m somewhere around 28 or thereabouts. There’s not much to say about being 36, is there? 40 is still a ways away (still - it's coming) but 30 is even further away, disappearing rapidly from my rear view mirror. It’s kinda like the Tuesday of thirtysomething birthdays.

If I’m honest I don’t think I ever had any great goals for my 36th year. Maybe I thought I’d have kids by now but I’m not too bothered about that today. Not since I have a new watch to play with. It’s got 3 winders and lots of other dials on the face. I’ve no idea what they’re for but I’m sure it’s very important. Scuba diving and running around burning buildings - that kind of thing. Besides if I had kids I probably wouldn’t have been able to have my breakfast in bed this morning. Which I did. And it was delicous. I’m not even aware of any great artistic achievements by 36 year-olds. Dylan did nothing the year he was 36. John Lennon was baking bread (supposedly) in the Dakota. Springsteen had finished a huge tour just before his 36th birthday and spent most of that year doing very little. So, hey - if sitting on laurels was good enough for them, it’s good enough for me.. If only I had some laurels. Not to worry, the book can wait another year. Although it’d be good if I had a better idea by then.

Let’s look back at the last year though. This time last year I hadn't done any of the following:
> donated blood;
> driven in France;
> seen Leo Burnham for the first time;
> fallen down the stairs (twice);
> had a pedicure;
> seen Bruce and the band 4 times;
> wangled myself a co-presenting gig on the radio;
> erected scaffolding;
> been targetted (accurately) by vicous egg terrorists;
> sanded the floors;
> met Daniel Day Lewis;
> read a bunch of great books including Moondust, Gene Kerrigan's The Midnight Choir and Robert Harris’ Ghost writer;
> read some not very good at all books like Douglas Kennedy’s State of the Union;
> been to Steve and Dara’s wedding;
> skanked my way into itunes american site and bought a bunch of things you can’t buy anywhere else;
> watched in horror as I realised itunes american site was on to me and had cancelled my balance!;
> plastered the ceilings;
> plucked up the nerve to get my media wanker glasses;
> had a massage (fnaarr!);
> accidentally killed my laptop (not my fault, guv);
> seen No Country for Old Men, Man on Wire, Enchanted or Elegy;
> visited Michael in Prague;
> picked a lock;
> Bought new cds by Elbow, Fleet Foxes, Vampire Weekend, Al Green, Bruce, Paul Weller, Shelby Lynne, Robert Plant, Aimee Mann, Coldplay, Cathy Davey, in an attempt to find something new and exciting to listen to;
> Listened to all of the above and arrived at the conclusion that there's nothing new anymore;
> shook tins outside shops for Heart Kids (well done Finglas, thanks for nothing Blanchardstown);
> sat through the entire third series of Greys Anatomy on dvd and managed to almost enjoy it by the end. Almost.

And of course most of these things wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t met Helen last September. Apart from being pelted in eggs walking home from work.

All in all not a bad year really. I don’t know what this year is going to bring to Connolly Towers, but more of the same would be fine with me. Apart from the egg attack and the falling down the stairs thing. I’m so over that lark.

So happy birthday to me.

Oh, and even though she hasn’t called me all year, I hope Ana Matronic is having a lovely day. I bet my year was more interesting.