Let me start this post by saying that I will be 38 in a couple of weeks…and I am genuinely ok with that.  Admittedly, this may be the last birthday I ever celebrate….and by that I mean that I will celebrate my 38th birthday every year until I die.

Other than that, I am absolutely fine with turning 37.

What causes me to remember that I do, indeed, have a blog to write from time to time?  Certainly not to admit to my ever increasing age, and definitely not to get everyone to congratulate me on my 36th birthday.

In fact, it is to talk about a bloke I have just been sat next to at a bar in Frankfurt.  50 years old if he is a day and dressed like the wigger in the Pretty Fly For A White Guy video.

White jeans, ripped and with loads of patches, rap style Hella** big t-shirt, bling…..and a Do Rag. Topped off with a stylish white denim jacket.

I don’t know about you, but that just screams young to me. We can ignore the straggles of grey hair hanging down from the rag…we can ignore the glasses thicker than the double glazing in my apartment, but I absolutely refuse to ignore the face.

A face that looked like a bag of prunes, left out in the sun, and then put in a very hot bath for around a day.

Now, as it goes, I rarely act my age, but I am under no illusions that I am still young and, whilst I wear funky t-shirts with the muppets or superheroes on most of the time….I recognise that I will soon be 35.

So remember, be proud of your age…whatever it is, and feel free to wish me a happy 34th.

Cheers homies, peace out bra and all that