30 Before 30…

So I’m going to turn 30 on 30th May 2014. There, I’ve said it.

Keep them coming. For the love of God. I'll tell you when I've had enough, etc.

Keep them coming. For the love of God, keep them coming. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough”, etc.

I’ve always had a real mental block about turning 30. I also had one about turning 25, as I wasn’t sure how to deal with being ‘late twenties’. Then my friends told me to man the fuck up and embrace the ‘mid-twenties’ classification, which I did, and by the time I actually approached my late twenties I became more fixated with the big 3-0 than the ‘late twenties’ mantle.

I don’t think it helps that I spend my days reading F. Scott Fitzgerald for the old P to the h to the D. He’s full of delightful insight on the inevitable shuffling towards death that he perceives to exponentially speed up once one has bypassed the 24 year marker. Behold:

She was a faded but still lovely woman of twenty-seven.

Life promises so very much to a pretty girl between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five that she never quite recovers from it.

It is a simple soul indeed to whom as many things are significant and meaningful at thirty as at ten years before.

Fitzgerald is judging you.

Fitzgerald is judging you.

 

This article by Olivia Wilde consoled me slightly, but it also reminded me that I’m not a Hollywood actor who got to be on The O.C. So I’d better take that off the 30 Before 30 list right off the bat.

Self-pity (first world problems style) aside, the point of this post was to introduce my series of 30 things to do before I reach the grand old age of 30. Some of them are bizarre, some are pretty lame, and some are borderline unachievable. But I’m going to give it a shot, and if it makes me feel better about the ravages of time on my stillborn ambitions, then hell yes I will indulge myself. In bullet-point form, obv.

Rain, Cheap Wine, and Collies.

Last week, the husband drove us six hours west to Saint-Paul-la-Roche, near Limoges, in France. He had returned that morning from a stag do in Budapest, so earns bonus points for being designated driver across many hours of soporific autoroute.

Go West

We listened to the new Daft Punk album on the way, which I enjoyed some of, but didn’t adore. Then I felt guilty for not ‘getting it.’ I think it had been bigged up too much. I wish people wouldn’t tell me about good shit, because it always ends up being less good than expected. And I’m inevitably disappointed: disappointed in the (not) good shit, and disappointed in myself for not liking it. It’s a complex course, this cultural appreciation malarky. We also listened to the Great Gatsby soundtrack, in a complex game in which we listened to a track at a time and then paused the cd to discuss why we disliked each track. That shit deserves its own post. I’m not as much of a miserable bitch as this is making me sound. Probably.

"Another 15th Century French Chateau to Visit? BORED NOW"

“Another 15th Century French Chateau to Visit? BORED NOW”

Anyway, we finally got to the farmhouse and met up with a group of friends from university. It was really great to see them, but I’m going to have to keep referring to them in an amorphous anonymous heap because apparently it’s not cool to put photos of other people on the internet without their permission. So you’ll just have to take my word for it. The house was set in what can only be described as hardcore French countryside, and there was an adorable collie called Millie who was very happy to see us, despite never having met us before.

Le Woof

Le Woof

It was a lovely week full of catching up with old friends, very cheap but not half bad French wine and beer, and lots of communal throw-it-together style cooking. We had brief windows of sun on our first and last days, but aside from that it rained pretty constantly.

Grumpy Cat Good

We played a lot of board games, and luckily the house also had a games room, with ping pong (easily convertible into beer pong) and snooker tables, as well as a darts board (no thanks) and a mini gym. There was a swimming pool too, but it wasn’t heated (First World Problems I know) and a tennis court, but it was mostly too rainy to use these, so we settled for Monopoly, Articulate, Scattergories and some made-up drinking games that helped to pass the time just fine. I also turned 29 and sustained a cracked rib, but those stories are for another time….