I am ageing. My bones are clicking more, I feel the cold more, and my hangovers are hanging over me for longer. I am twenty four. When I was younger, did I ache to be less old? Of course not. I yearned for the day to come when I was older, when I could look after myself and people would take me seriously. Now I wish I had someone to look after me, and people still don’t take me seriously. A late night gives me rings under my eyes, and somewhere along the line my body forgot how to limbo. People tell me I’ll look back in twenty years time and wonder what I was thinking, moaning about being young, but if this is young, I don’t know how cold the wind’ll blow by the time I’m 40. I am twenty four, and I should have a free bus pass.