I'm returning to this after a few years so technically not a newbie, i engaged for a whole week last time. But that was two years ago, so may as well be. Right?

But anyway, something strange happens when you turn 30, and it's not just the horribly extended testicles or extra nose hair. No, I'm talking about the feeling of freedom, yet also the sense of shackles gently tugging at your ankles.

I'm now a proper adult, for what that's worth. Too old to blame immaturity on age, yet not old enough to not be immature.

If you hand me some lego, I'm bloody well gonna with it. I fucking love lego! But I'll be drinking straight Jagermeister whilst i do so. Yeah, I'm so over jagerbombs, that's how i know I've matured. I don't want to be wired all night, i enjoy sleep too much. I need that nightly escape from the horror that is my new existence of random back ache and medical paranoia.

That "sleep when I'm dead" attitude has been replaced by a "i will sleep now" attitude as i slowly usher in a new age of heavy practice for my inevitable final destination. I really wouldn't want to fuck that up.

Despite the new realisation of mortality (i mean, i knew beforehand, i just didn't calculate the time frame remaining), and the aches and tiredness, i feel better in my own skin. Yeah, i look a little rough around the edges, so what, fuck it, I'm not chasing shallow girls anymore. I'm not competing against guys with abs you could use to fold towels with either. I'm up against beer bellies and nose hair, i think I've found my time to shine. Right? Right...?

And yet, my stamina has decreased to such a degree that a ten minute jog has me wheezing so bad that death himself is taking pity and offering me some water. Like cheers cueball, i expect I'll see ya real soon!

I imagine smoking and lack of exercise is the culprit for the bad parts. But meh, in the grand scheme of things, all human history considered, I've achieved an age greater than like probably 90% of men throughout human history have achieved. So, that's something, right?

And guess what, I've done it in a less healthy manner too. I doubt spartan men were downing jagerbombs by the dozen every weekend and then going raw with sticky vicky and her potentially deadly assortment of venereal diseases. Although, there is a slightly lower of death by being stabbed to death these days.

Hey, despite all the bollocks these days, it's a beautiful time to be alive. Wouldn't you agree?

What is this post about? Well, whatever you want it to be. Although, I'd prefer the accuracy of it being an attempt to cause a few smirks, maybe a chuckle or two, and to probe for likeminded people to share a little humour and spread the gospel of Jesus Christ, our lord and saviour. Our very savoury saviour. That Jesus fella is a real cracker.