I am thirty years old. Over the last few years (2005 2004 2003) there’s been a little guessing game for you all to play, but not this year. I am thirty. Blimey. That’s all grown up, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve got a mortgage and a daughter and whatnot, so I suppose I am grown up, and I pretty much like it. I drink red wine and everything. A whole new decade. I barely remember not being in my twenties. Here comes ten more years of doing cool things, except now there’s a three at the beginning. And I’ll probably be doing them in sensible shoes. Bring it on. I have to say that it’s going to be a lot easier to face the trials and tribulations of middle age from inside my birthday present from Sam, which is a Mercedes-Benz C180 Kompressor sports coupe. So nice. It was a bit of a wrench to get rid of my Fiat Coupe, but, y’know, I’m thirty now, can’t have fast cars any more. I have to be refined and so on. Actually, that’s total lies and had nothing to do with it, I just don’t want to pay a grand a year for insurance for a car that I only drive to the railway station and back. The Merc’s marvellous, though. Really swishy. I like it a lot. Happy birthday to me. Hope the rest of you enjoy the day!