Does this Zimmer Frame come with Cup Holders?

Mike Gayle writes in his novel Turning Thirty that hitting your thirties means never going down the pub unless you know there’s somewhere to sit.

It’s the decade when you begin to rethink your ideas about Clint Eastwood being the icon to emulate, and start to browse the section in Clicks with male moisturiser and L’Oreal eye-wrinkle cream. You tell yourself the receding hair at your temples isn’t that bad, and hang on to the hope in that Nicolas Cage is still cool in spite of it.

Men drew the long end of the stick in this regard. We are often told that we get better looking or at least appear more distinguished as we get older. I can only thank the patriarchal, sexist Illuminati for organising this facet of our social psyche.

The thirties aren’t all bad, and I guess it’s got a lot to do with perspective.

Gone is the immature insecurity of one’s twenties. We’ve learned enough about the opposite sex to stop being such bumbling retards in their presence, replaced feigned confidence with acceptance or actual aplomb, and know enough about life to understand that wisdom is not measured by our successes but by the number of mistakes we’ve made.

You stop arguing with your parents about what you should be doing with your life, and realise that the only thing you should be doing is something that brings you some sense of purpose. As you edge closer to middle-age and eventually death, the fact that money and status are ridiculous endeavours is knowledge secreted from your soul.

But it’s not all shits and giggles. You start to make ‘that noise’ when you bend down to pick something off the floor, and it often takes more than one try to get off the couch. The years of beer culminate around your protesting belly, and the comfort of Crocs causes one to reconsider their trendiness.

Also, in the early stages of thirtyhood, a crushing despair of “what have I done with my life?” can set in.

All others fears are put on the back burner, and the terror of growing old alone starts to scratch at the door. It is the age when men discard the idea of being a player and strive to settle down.

As you hack your way through the years like a lost explorer in a confounding, ever-changing jungle, the direction of your life more often than not changes. This is scary and many will urge you to stay on course.

This biting, clawing feeling can be early onset mid-life crisis, or a reaction to a spiritual emptiness one might feel upon the realisation that so much of what they thought they knew turned out to be bollocks.

So just when you’ve thrown out so many childish insecurities, a set of nicely wrapped new ones is opened.

… now where’d I put that facial scrub.