Today I turned 25 years old for the first time. Probably the last time too.
In the interest of FACTS, I feel compelled to state for the record that I share my birthday with a wonderful hodge-podge of people. Both Vince Lombardi and Joe Montana were born today. Jacques Cousteau, the famous marine explorer who invented the Aqua-Lung and won a Palme D’Or for one of his docos. Christina Crawford, who wrote that incredibly dark and fascinating memoir about life with her mother Joan, a book which everyone in possession of eyes should read at once. Frank Beard, the only member of ZZ Top that doesn’t have a beard. Quite the collection of actors in Gene Wilder, Hugh Laurie, Peter Dinklage…and Shia LaBeouf. Magnum T.A., who had one of the all-time great mustaches, as well as one of the all-time great wrestling matches against Tully Blanchard.
As I say, I share my birthday with many people. Incredibly, none of them are professional footballers. Seriously, I can’t find a single football player of any note born on June 11th. None. Well, apart from me that is (I feel okay about calling myself a footballer today since I netted two goals last night and didn’t let the team down. God I love playing night games.) But that just knocks me down. The history of football is one of my favourite things, and yet I can’t find a single footballer in history that shares my birthday. Irony. I came close, but Pat Jennings, the Northern Irish goalkeeper is June 12th, and Ladislav Kubala, the expat Hungarian of the 50s who played for Barcelona is June 10th. Missed it by that much.
But back to me, it’s funny how we’re at that age where every new birthday is another depressing milestone. 25 years old; a quarter century. Last year turning 24 meant we were firmly in our mid-20s. The year before that, turning 23 meant that I was too old to sing Taylor Swift’s “22” with any accuracy. Them feels. Man, I remember back in high school we used to mock girls who had turned 15 because they were “halfway to thirty”. Now we’re halfway to fifty. Ouch. How time flies.
Actually I don’t mean to sound all depressed because I’m not depressed about it in the least. I like my birthday and I’ve had a good day today, which has mostly consisted of me doing whatever the hell I want. Picking up veggies and a lamb leg for dinner, shopping for my own present at H&M and shit, scoring some clothes on the cheap, driving around blasting music, drinking Coke out of glass bottles. All the good stuff. I set aside this day for pure, unadulterated hedonism, and I think I’ve pretty much nailed that objective. Me! Me! Me!
To offset all the self-absorption, I want to change gears and mention a couple of things. Firstly, I want to shout out to Dream Big, Dream Often’s GoFundMe to facilitate his work as an MS advocate, a worthy cause that deserves support. Secondly, it’s not too late to donate to my fundraising for the MS Fun Run that I completed in a swift and stylish 1:03:05 on the 31st May. Millions of people live with MS every day and let me tell you, it sucks. Anything we can do to help them is the absolute least we can do.