Last night, I had a call, out of the blue from an old friend who happened to have my phone number on his mobile. As he was going through his contacts, he said it was either delete it or ring it, so he decided to ring me. We had an interesting chat, but it also made me think.
The last time I saw him in the flesh was probably eight or nine years ago. And the last time I chatted with him was probably a couple of years ago. And to be honest, he is a good bloke, I do get along with him, and I did get along with him as well. But what is fascinating is that my life when I knew him and my life now are two completely different tales. I am a different person to that boy eight or nine years ago.
Really, the big thing I am trying to say is when did I get so old?
Now I know, I am only 31, and so not old in the grand scheme of things. On average, I still have at over double the amount of years to live until I start to loose bodily functions (assuming I live to average age of 75). But when did the world begin to leave me behind? When did friendships become less important than insurance policies or ISA accounts? Before I would have happily said that I will meet up in Newcastle next week, but now I am thinking about the petrol costs.
Yeah, in other words, when did money actually start to matter?
Is that the real sign of getting old. Not the loss of hair (guilty!) or the gentle sagging of the nether regions (no comment!) but the fact that I think more about what is in my wallet and in my accounts than who I know or what I do beyond the power of £££.
Sad isn’t it. When you grow up…