Man and Boy. Tony Parsons

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      Some situations to avoid when preparing for your all-important, finally-I-am-fully-grown thirtieth birthday.

      Having a one-night stand with a colleague from work.

      The rash purchase of luxury items you can’t afford.

      Being left by your wife.

      Losing your job.

      Suddenly becoming a single parent.

      If you are coming up to thirty, whatever you do, don’t do any of that.

      It will fuck up your whole day.

      Thirty should be when you think – these are my golden years, these are my salad days, the best is yet to come – and all that old crap.

      You are still young enough to stay up all night, but you are old enough to have a credit card. All the uncertainties and poverty of your teens and twenties are finally over – and good riddance to the lot of them – but the sap is still rising.

      Thirty should be a good birthday. One of the best.

      But how to celebrate reaching the big three-oh? With a collection of laughing single friends in some intimate bar or restaurant? Or surrounded by a loving wife and adoring small children in the bosom of the family home?

      There has to be a good way of turning thirty. Perhaps they are all good ways.

      All my images of this particular birthday seemed to be derived from some glossy American sitcom. When I thought of turning thirty, I thought of attractive thirty-nothing mar-rieds snogging like teens in heat while in the background a gurgling baby crawls across some polished parquet floor, or I saw a circle of good-looking, wisecracking friends drinking latte and showing off their impressive knitwear while wryly bemoaning the dating game. That was my problem. When I thought of turning thirty, I thought of somebody else’s life.

      That’s what thirty should be – grown-up without being disappointed, settled without being complacent, worldly wise, but not so worldly wise that you feel like chucking yourself under a train. The time of your life.

      By thirty you have finally realised that you are not going to live forever, of course. But surely that should only make the laughing, latte-drinking present taste even sweeter? You shouldn’t let your inevitable death put a damper on things. Don’t let the long, slow slide to the grave get in the way of a good time.

      Whether you are enjoying the last few years of unmarried freedom, or have recently moved on to a more adult, more committed way of life with someone you love, it’s difficult to imagine a truly awful way of turning thirty.

      But I managed to find one somehow.

      The car smelled like somebody else’s life. Like freedom.

      It was parked right in the window of the showroom, a wedge-shaped sports car which, even with its top off, looked as sleek and compact as a muscle.

      Naturally it was red – a flaming, testosterone-stuffed red.

      When I was a little bit younger, such blatant macho corn would have made me sneer, or snigger, or puke, or all of the above.

      Now I found it didn’t bother me at all. In fact, it seemed to be just what I was looking for at this stage of my life.

      I’m not really the kind of man who knows what cars are called, but I had made it my business – furtively lingering over the ads in glossy magazines – to find out the handle of this particular hot little number. Yes, it’s СКАЧАТЬ