That is, until I found myself waiting in a que to get into the busiest, most popular gay bar in England. Not once did I think that I was actually going to attend a nightclub. I told my friend that I was going to spend my birthday weekend with her in London and that we could mill around the city by day and party hard by night. I’m clever enough to say it early so that people will forget that I had even mentioned it in the first place. Every year when it starts to get closer to my birthday, I talk the talk and tell everyone that I will organise some big event and celebrate the night taking shots of vodka through the eyeball and twerking it out until the wee hours of the morning. BAM! Just like that! Last I checked I was 21 and fresh-faced, before I found the joy of chain-smoking and coffee-binges at midnight (I’m so rock and roll that it hurts).

Consider myself proved wrong.Ī few weeks ago, I turned 26. Apparently things start to appear differently to you and you start to prefer sipping tea, watching ‘the X Factor’ on a Saturday night, as opposed to hitting the town.

According to every smart-arse, it’s all downhill when you reach your mid-twenties.