What Seams important at the time...

My trousers don’t fit. More specifically, a pair of baby blue cords, that even now lie abandoned and ashamed at the top of an already plump bag earmarked for the local charity shop. I wore them at my 30th birthday party. It was a raucous affair, an event for which only a fool would have worn anything even approaching constricting, due to the huge potential for social suicide. Having said that, one friend wore nothing at all for much of the evening and caused a bit of a stir, but that’s another story. This grand occasion was two years ago. Now, the button and eye of those once glorious cords will, alas, never meet again. At least, not around me. There’s more chance of Justin and Britney getting back together.

I remember my mother warning me, as I sat swilling beer like a Viking, that once you hit 30 your metabolism slows down. Slows Down? It finds a small dark corner of your soul and curls up and dies. But then, as you stand assessing, wishing you had bought your mirror from the same shop the wicked queen in Snow White bought hers, the temptation springs eagerly to mind. “I’ll keep them,” you say assertively, “I’ll get back into them. You’ll see.”

Now, I’m not knocking optimism, but who are you trying to kid? You’ve got more chance of learning German. And here’s the thing - sometimes you just have to let go. Relish the past by all means (I mostly live in the 9th Century) but don’t dwell on it. As for the future; yes, there is, I suppose, a slim chance of getting back into that shirt or those trousers, providing you’re willing to give up the things that make life so damned enjoyable, but if you’re constantly dreaming of that magical moment, you’ll miss the day you’re in. A shame, seeing as it won’t come round again.

My trousers don’t fit, not even vaguely, but being 32 is wonderful. For me it’s always been a powerful age, and age of achievement. Alexander the Great had conquered the known world when he died at 32. Bruce Lee had mastered the finer points of beating the crap out of people, and Jesus Christ had done a whole bunch of stuff in his spare time, including raising the dead (allegedly), turning water into wine (handily), and founding Christianity.

Alexander The Great is one of my heroes, for too many reasons to go into now. Whilst I’m fairly sure I won’t be achieving any measure of his glory anytime soon, (after all, conquering seems to be frowned upon these days) I am marching resolutely towards my own ambition of having a novel published. Furthermore, I’m blessed to have two of the best literary agents in the business fighting to make it happen. Of course, it’s still a tall order. Only one half of one percent of novels written make it onto the bookshop shelves. But I am enjoying the journey. Each and every day of it.

With odds like that to beat, and with such dreams to fulfil, the loss of my baby blue cords is of very little consequence. It’s nothing but a pile of…well…pants.