Dear My Twenties

As I stand on the cusp of leaving my twenties and entering my fourth decade, I thought it would be only fair to the past ten years to reflect on the ups, downs and comical episodes that got me to 30..there you go, I said it. Thirty. 

I suppose the classic answers, when people ask what would you like to do before you turn 30, are things like, travel the world, find the job you love, get married, have a baby and buy your first home.

I’m pleased to say that I have seen a fair bit of the world now, thanks to my husband who is far braver than me and got me on a long haul plane as quickly as he could! I can also thank him for daring to marry me and collaborate with me on the Erin project – much like the Eden project, just a lot more fun!

If someone would have asked me at 19, what I wanted to happen in my twenties, I can’t imagine I would have said “I want to get my heart broken” or “I want to learn what it’s like to have £19.70 left in my account to last me a week”. You’d never ask for these things, but they have surely got to be the things that shape us?

When I was 20, I was right royally dumped by, who I can quite happily say in hindsight was a horrible boy (polite and edited version), and I can only hope for the female population has become a better man (doubtful, but we can only hope to find out more on a future episode of Jeremy Kyle). 

I spent over four years with this waste of pavement, but I wouldn’t say they were wasted years. I don’t think you should ever regret the past as it made you what you are today. But I do look back and laugh at my former self. 

Having my heart broken, however hard at the time, was the best thing that ever happened to me. I learned a lot from that boy. I learned to never go for someone who fancies themselves more than you, always avoid those men who don’t get on with your friends, and when they start to talk too much about the 16-year-old admin girl at work..they’re probably sleeping with her!

I only thank the lord, and any other Gods who are listening in, that I was dumped. I can only imagine how terrible life would have been if I’d have stuck around. Phew, that was a close call.

And then there’s of course those first few years of living on your own. It’s such a leap from the safe sanctuary that is Mum and Dad’s house. Of course there’s huge benefits. You’ve got yourself on the property ladder, you have your freedom, you can go to the toilet with the door open, you can decorate however you like, you can wake up whatever time you like on a Saturday morning (without the drone of the hoover outside your bedroom door.) 

On the other hand, if you want to eat, you have to cook it yourself, you have a house to clean, lawn to mow, clothes to wash and ironing to do. Not to mention having to afford it all. In my first year of living on my own, I went from having more disposable income than I have ever had, living at home and paying my Mum and Dad a token £40 a month board, to having a mortgage, bills, food and travel to pay for, which left me with about £50 a week spare – which, as I discovered, disappears very quickly! 

One month I had about six birthdays to pay for (damn you March!), and when I looked at my bank over a week before pay day, what greeted me wasn’t welcoming - £19.70. But it’s amazing what you can do with Asda, less than £20 and a couple of visits to Mum and Dad’s for tea.

The past decade has taught me a number of little things that I think it’s worth sharing. Whether you’re in the middle of your twenties, looking forward to spending time in them, or see them in some misty distant memory, please take note:

• - If someone challenges you to a ‘dance off’ in the middle of Love Shack after one too many cheeky milks, politely suggest you have blisters and couldn’t possibly participate. Don’t embrace the challenge, attempt some sort of Flashdance style drop to your knees, and fall flat on your bum, in the centre of a pool of stale beer.
• - When taking part in a pub quiz, fully aware that you have about as much general knowledge as TOWIE has brain cells, don’t attempt to answer a question, unless you absolutely know the answer. And think before you speak. Do not confuse Whitney Houston with Sadam Hussein, and if you do, don’t say it out loud! 
• - Make sure you at least once use the phrase ‘let’s give Malia a go’. You’ll see things you never thought you’d witness in real life, you’ll never be more delighted to be in the presence of a 45-year-old copper from Bolton - who booked a last minute deal on Teletext, hoping for a quiet stay in a sleepy fishing village – when a group of men dressed as women start approaching you with their pinafore dresses over their head and no undergarments. You have visit once, but you’ll also never want to return as long as you live
• - Always be a cheap date. Ask for too much, and you really are doing just that. Mine and Mark’s first official date (after years of drinks out) cost him a few gin and tonics, a very cheap and questionably dog or horse curry and a couple of late night episodes of Only Fools and Horses. Sold. 
• - Never ever refer to your 38-year-old boss as middle-aged, because very soon you’re going to be looking not too far into the future and realising that 38 is not in any way middle-aged and you may have just caused the poor woman to buy out the anti-wrinkle aisle in Boots.

In essence my twenties dealt me a good hand, I’ve danced more than Bez from the Happy Mondays, have married a fantastic man, had a beautiful daughter, been within ‘breaching an injunction order’ distance from Gary Barlow five times, cuddled Chesney Hawkes, discovered curry, had Breakfast at Tiffany’s, been to Wembley with Mansfield Town, learned how to make the perfect Victoria Sponge, made lifelong friends, found old friends again, and built a Christmas decoration collection to rival the North Pole. What more can a girl ask for really?

Looking ahead to my thirties, I expect to make just as many errors in judgement, have just as many challenging and equally hilarious episodes, and be just as surprised by each and every year as I go. 

Hopefully my twenties have taught me something…but I can’t promise not to give in to the prospect of a dance-off every now and again!