Why Jeremy Hardy is funnier than me

Tonight I saw Jeremy Hardy, which was a very unusual thing to happen in Kirkcaldy, but it happened all the same and he was marvellous. He looks, bizarrely, a bit like Holly Johnson, with a hint of Dale Winton from the side, then he does his big grin and he looks just like himself and rather gorgeous. Which is not a term applied to either of the aforementioned. He does have the best grin ever.

Ah yes, relevance: he was extremely funny, and very entertaining for two hours. Hurrah for value for money. I saw him, I think, two years ago and he was very good then. He is topical and outspoken without being remotely offensive. Clever, witty act. I'm cringing a bit on his observations of bloggers and their sheer inanity, but I did laugh and laugh.

My inner child would like to protest: I have made some genuine friends that have taken a liking to the drivel I write online.

I'm feeling a little blooo however.

For one, I may have had an evening out, but noone told my hair. So when it came to time to get ready and I tried to coax it into submission, it mutinied. stating "Whoa, woman, are you a trained hairdresser? No, I thought not. What are you doing? Why are you disturbing my lank tangled ways? Do you think this is 2005 or something? Get a grip and get back in that kitchen" so it took me out looking a bit bedraggled. The right side relented and went into quite cute curls, the left side simply wasn't up for a night out and did its best to achieve the Real Bedhead look (ie, the "goodness you need a shower" look).

Secondly, I hate being 33. I have hated being 33 since approximately one week before my 33rd birthday, compounded by actually having flu on said birthday. It's a rubbish age, it's such a nothing age, it's not old, it's not young. This is not a new discovery, but listening to Jeremy Hardy, who expresses the things I'd like to be able to think, I feel extremely young and inexperienced. Yet I find young people an alien species, they make me feel past it and shrivelled. It's very disconcerting feeling like a small child most of the time interspersed with feeling like I should be pensioned off.

33 doesn't even know what it is, is it early or mid thirties? At least with 34 you know you are definitely talking mid thirties, which is more definable.

To clarify: Early 30s are 30, 31, 32; mid thirties, 34, 35, 36; late thirties, 37, 38, 39. Where does 33 go? 33 is neither early nor mid, it doesn't know where it is, clinging to the youthfulness of 30, or maturely accepting the inevitability of 35. No, it swings back and forth between the two, being nothing. 34 is nearly 35, which is something, 33 is nothing other than nearly 34. What use is that? 23 has the same problems but 23 is undoubtedly young. By 43 I hope to have grown up and may even be able to talk to people. It's just stupid limbo age, 33. Grr. Roll on January.

Talking of which, winter is arriving, I love it :-)