The rough and tumble of twenty-something life

I recently visited my old university town.  Its coming up to 7 years since I left – it was nice, although full of a lot more children than I remember.  My girlfriend asked if I thought we could pass for students to the other students.  No.  We look like nearly-30 year olds looked to you when you were 19.  Like grown ups.

I’m sure grown ups when I was 19 had it a lot more sorted.  They had proper jobs with dull suits, they owned cars and were going giddy inflating property prices. Thanks guys.  At the end of the 90s houses only cost a fiver.  Now you can barely get a sandwich for that.  Still I’m happier now.  All this unemployment has given me time to think, to develop a sage like wisdom by 28.  You cannot put a price on that, although neither does it get you a sandwich.

I remember visiting uni a year after I left.  That time I was pretty sad.  It was like visiting an ex.  You thought it had been a mutual decision to split up, but a year later you realise you’re still in love with them.  By devastating contrast, they’ve completely moved on.  There is some new guy, a jock called Tim who thinks downing pints of sick is hilarious, wearing flip flops and tracksuit bottoms is acceptable and he uses the word ‘banter’ to thinly veil misogyny.  Tim is a dick.  Your ex seems to think this is fine though and has no idea who you are… Excuse me?

7 years is easier - you’ve met someone new too.  Someone with a career, savings, someone who has travelled.  Your uni however is still making the same mistakes. In fact uni’s problems get worse.  The recession has taken away most interesting shops in the centre, leaving surely more Sainsbury’s Locals than necessary. They’ve ‘regenerated’ the part of town that used to be cool too, opening a Costa, a Subway and now everywhere is doing deals for JaegerBombs.

Anyway.

Of course, just like meeting an ex, you’re only going to present your best bits – sure you rode a storm, but now you’re stronger than you ever were!  You’re classy too.  No JaegerBombs, you drink Martini Espressos. 

Late that evening, my sage like wisdom was unexpectedly holding court, and I was dispensing advice to these teenly undergraduates.   Their faces were so fresh and hopeful.  Maybe I had had a martini espresso too many (turns out they are just JaegerBombs for yuppies), so I couldn’t help delivering the harsh honesty.  In the first year after I finished my degree, I made 5000 cups of tea.  5000.  I worked it out once, probably whilst making tea.  I had a degree in philosophy – of course I made tea.  I didn’t just make tea though, I flyered too.  I filed.  I painted house boats.  I worked in bars.  I worked in night clubs.  I did all these things because… life gets hard… guys OK?!? (I really may have had too many martinis) But, you find a way *hiccup*, you know?  And there’s all this tax, which no one explained… And you live with people, and you cook nice dinners together… who wants another drink??... and people can actually cook now.  I had to fix a tap recently.  It’s nice, even when you find yourself sobbing over cereal thinking WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING, because people lookgfershemanOHMYGOD I LOVE THIS SONG…

And with that I got up dancing.  That was one thing I had definitely got getter at since I was at uni.  All that bar work.  No more of that ‘ironic dancing’, a decade of clubbing has made me snakehips McGhie. 

He moves like liquid silk.

He has all the moves.

He looks so great right now.

He has had too many martinis, and he slips and twists his ankle.  My ankles aren’t what they used to be.

I go from guru to crumpled uncle, decrepit and past it.  The one youth not too embarrassed to chat to me helps me up.  In my self loathing fantasy, she has a fashion-app-start up already because all kids are tech savvy business freaks, riding some social media wave that I just failed to catch.  Actually, no.  She has no idea what she wants to do, and is still wide eyed at the world that awaits her.  My girlfriends eyes are rolling however. 

Suddenly, I realise exactly how I’ve grown up.  I may still have no idea what I want, but as I limp to chair blabbing about making 2000 coffees too, in 7 years I have at least learnt a lot about what I don’t want to do.  Pow?