On The Brink of the Mid Twenties...

I woke up on Thursday July 1^st both incredibly anxious and excited. Excited because Dead Sons were uploading their first four songs since the name change and the addition of two new members that day. Excited because I only had two sleeps to wait before an epic amount of friends from my home town, my formative Uni and work friends plus my London buddies would all be visiting for a big party. Anxious because I only had two more sleeps as a 25 year old. I was on the brink of mid and late 20s, staring over the metaphorical cliff and I was running scared.

So what did turning 26 mean? I guess for some people it might mean an evaluation of your job, looking at a mortgage, considering taking a relationship to the next level and getting a pet? For me, it meant I probably had to make it to Glastonbury in the next two years, as I had promised myself I would do despite my hatred of camping. Also, having overcome my fears of sushi and Indian curries, I should probably attempt my Mount Everest of fears next and get back in the driving seat. I don’t know though, is there a right and wrong in this day and age?

I didn’t know what I was afraid of, apart from having to start ticking the ‘Over 25s’ box in surveys. Is that a crows foot I see next to my left eye? Did I start my rigorous moisturising routine too late? Will I wake up one morning with a new-found penchant for successful bankers and below-the-knee hemlines? Thankfully this last one has not yet occurred and, much to the dismay of those more sensible types around me, I still find video footage of cute, plastered, band boys wrapped in gaffer tape and throwing themselves out of moving vehicles both hilarious and strangely alluring.

This visibly pains and confuses some of my closest friends, the normal ones we shall collectively name ‘The Marrieds’ simply because some of them are married and some are pretty damn close/making future plans/not drinking as much gin and falling in love with £3-a-gig musos as I am. I love ‘The Marrieds’ as I do all my friends, more than life, and they love me, but they don’t understand me. Plus it would take a lifetime for me to explain myself to them, especially as I have no answers myself. So we all co-exist in a lovely world of forever friendship, and I gloss over some things/leave out vital bits of information so that they don’t think I’m either mental or about to elope somewhere with a 22 year old guitarist at the drop of a hat (which, I should point out, my Mum is fully prepared for).

Thankfully I have my Sismance (see what I did there) with the delectable, no-gloss-necessary Miss Lovemenot, who needs no explanations, just daily rants/plans/wise ideas/very unwise ideas in amongst managing our lovely store in St Johns Wood. And because we can’t get enough of each other, both at work and in social hours, we have decided to be up sticks from our current housing situations and become flatmates! Happy Birthday to me! A new flat on the cards and Dead Sons have not ceased to amaze me…..perhaps it’s going to be a good one after all.

The Birthday, as ever, was epic. I make it my duty each year to get as many people together under one roof as I can for celebrations and a chance to catch up. Lovely Katy and Mim had spent the Friday night with me catching up over Chinese and trying to right the same wrongs we spent many an afternoon in the Duo stockrooms of Bath trying to do. They also had the pleasure of waking up to the shrieks of ‘It’s My Birthday’ the following Saturday morning followed by a tearful moment collecting my parcels from the sorting office when the man at the desk wished me a Happy Birthday…I don’t care, I’m full of love. I’m special around this time of year, special as in should potentially be institutionalised. Jodie arrived, dressed as a pirate and still drunk from the night before at 10am (one literally can’t wait for her impending move to London in September) and we all chilled with an afternoon picnic in the park before my darling sisters of mercy Cat and Rachel arrived for the evening. Bless Lovemenot for speeding her way to mine after work and taking a mere 20 minutes to beautify herself before we hit Brick Lane for an Indian and I finally got to meet MMH’s new love interest.

Brick Lane was a good choice, many a night had already been spent in its fabulous bars and restaurants plus I had recently experienced what I would consider a brush with fate as I bumped into an old Bathonian crush of mine not once but twice. As it happens things went no further…but we are still hopeful. I had chosen 93 Feet East as my club of choice for the evening partly due to the tales I had heard of the vast amounts of skinny rockers that frequented there and partly due to the musical promises of Motown, Indie and Disco mash ups. In truth it was slightly overcrowded and overheated but fun nonetheless. We drank, we danced, we had an epic journey home barefoot, followed by tea and cake at 4.30am. And I’ll probably never forget the glint in the eye of the beautiful, trilby-adorned stranger who removed said hat and gave me a flirty ‘evenin’ as he walked by.

It hit me, as we sat around the table at the Indian just how time moves us forward, and yet, I felt as if I had seen everyone yesterday as they all sat catching up on work, men and Rachel’s impending wedding. I often talk about fate and soulmates and sometimes I long for things that I’m without. But it’s bloody humbling and earth-shatteringly brilliant to know you have these people around you who will not let you fall when you have every intention of jumping, who will accept all parts of you and who all, in their own way, make up the fabric of your life and who you are. Like Cat and Rachel who first met me in the post-Goth phase and struggled through university and the first glimpses of adult responsibilities. Or Jodie who showed me around on my first day at my beloved job at Duo and, upon asking her if she was with anyone special, confidently replied ‘until there’s a ring on it, I’m a free woman,’ Beyonce eat your heart out. And then there’s Shantel who helped me get out of the Hell-Hole and has become an unlikely alliance and fabulous ‘one too many’ drinking partner. My partner in crime Lovemenot and MMH, the best fellow gig-fiend and gay husband a girly could ever ask for. At that moment, I felt like the luckiest woman in the world to have these people and other sadly absent friends and family, around me.

So I realised…if the last 5 years are anything to go by, bring on the late twenties, as long as I have each and every one of these lovely people around me, or at least on the end of a phone, it’s going to be another big adventure.