I don’t think I ever want to turn twenty five.

It seems like such a scary age, where I feel like I should have done all the things I’d ever wanted to do in life and then settle down with a career and be sensible, stable, responsible, take on a variety of commitments like a mortgage and a family and I’ll go to those sort of dinner parties where I get a babysitter for the kids and find myself with a room full of equally amazing stable couples while I sip wine and talk about the state of affairs and complain about taxes, petrol prices and I get to listen to everyone else talk about their even more amazing lives…

But yeah…I digress…

This year Phil was turning twenty-five, and well it doesn’t really sound that all bad until you take into consideration that he’s now a quarter of a century olde! Then, and only then does it begin to sound kinda scary. Then you realise how fast time flies, give it two years and I really will be turning twenty five myself…

To celebrate Phil’s coming of oldeness, someone, somehow, sometime decided to have a house party at the guy’s/Tom’s house. It’s been kinda annoying and so forth, I’ve been trying to get a house party going for weeks and weeks now, but we just couldn’t seem to get it to happen. We just couldn’t get people in sync at all, but then as if by magic, Phil’s birthday allowed the perfect reasoning and motivation to get it to work.

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