How do we celebrate the end days? It’s over at thirty right? Right! I mean that’s what they say and because I’m 30 I care what they think, or at least what they think about me. See at the age of twenty we don’t care what the world thinks of us, at thirty we worry what it’s thinking of us. I’m told at forty we come to the frustrating conclusion that the world wasn’t ever thinking of us at all. Marlene’s borderline thirty, she cares what we think, that’s why she’s got a bucket list and is documenting her intrepid ride to the brink of relevance. Have a look at some synonyms for the word intrepid – bold, fearless, courageous… I love that it takes those traits to successfully deal with the reality of this terrifying landmark. For what it’s worth Marls, you’re doing well ya little trooper.
The thirtieth year of my life had been my most extraordinary yet. It was punctuated by a move to Shanghai and having the thrill of participating in (a Chinese production of) The Amazing Race. It was an astonishingly rewarding experience, the time of my life. But I came second, lost by four minutes and don’t want to talk about it, digressing…
For my thirtieth birthday I decided to indulge my fervor for travel by flying from Melbourne to Shanghai. Breakfast with the family at home, 10 hours of free drinks and entertainment at altitude and an arrival in Shanghai just in time for dinner and a cheeky bar crawl through the French Concession. Perfect. Problem is every time I board a plane, I lament the absence of glamour in the whole affair. Watch Catch Me If You Can as a reminder of how stylish traveling used to be. In the 1960’s flying truly was the future, it was a luxury, and people dressed for the occasion. And could they dress! The airports were stylish, the stewardesses were stylish (and they were gorgeous), and the passengers were stylish. Nowadays people fly in their goddamn pajamas because they want to be “comfortable”. It’s embarrassing. The future was going to be so cool, and look what we did to it.
When I buckle in I think “forget the chubby man next to me who - going by his attire - got lost somewhere between his bedroom and the toilet, who has sauce on his chin and is surely minutes away from falling into a food coma and possibly into my lap. I’m keeping it classy up in here!” I block out the emergency briefing by dialing in The Rat Pack – Live at the Sands on the iPhone and as soon as we reach altitude I order a Martini and try to ignore the plastic cup it’s served in. Deano and Sinatra will be my drinking buddies because I’m flying and I’ll be damned if it’s going to be anything less than glamorous and stylish.
I like drinking Martini’s mid-flight, because I like letting the weather dictate my drink. Sunny day in London – it’s got to be Pimm’s and lemonade. Okay with a finger of Gin too… because you twisted my arm. Flying is much the same – when the seatbelt light comes on, it’s the bar telling me “until further notice, Martini’s will be served shaken and not stirred”. If it’s good enough for Bond.
My birthday was October 14th. In the weeks since I’ve signed on to host a Travel Show for Chinese television. I like Chinese TV because (thanks to a 1.2bn population) even the shit shows get watched by 20 million people. I also had my first crack at live TV, made a music video, got auctioned off for charity, bought another Bell & Ross, crashed a motorbike and (justifiably) got in hot water from my passenger for concerning myself with the welfare of the bike before theirs. It’s a fucking great bike… and they were both okay. I’ve scared the shit out of some children at Halloween and then scared the shit out of myself by waking up blue the next day having forgotten that I’d hit the town dressed as a Smurf and I’ve reached new levels of fitness – smashing the myth that at thirty the body gains a mind of its own.
So life’s over at thirty? Nah mate, this is life at its fullest – no longer slaves to dreams and not yet servants of regret. The journey only starts here.
Ironically in my birth week I found out my father is at the end of the road. Life always has a way to keep you grounded and of reminding you that it’s a precious bloody gift that we never asked for but have kind of grown to love and, well, depend on. Doctor’s expect he’s got six months left on this rock - this has become his intrepid journey to the real thirty. So how’s he celebrating the end days? For those paying attention that was the original question right? Boozy lunches and fishing trips with his old mates. And who would begrudge him that. He’s so busy living now it’s like he was dead before. Bless him. He’s setting the tone for the rest of us, keep living till you can’t anymore and remember that your attitude should dictate your circumstance and never the other way around. Oh and for God’s sake keep it classy because if you don’t you’re killing the future!!
Some final advice for those who can’t get their head around the above, remember you’re only as old as the person you wake up next to. In saying that, don’t search for the fountain of youth drunk because you might wake up young, but hating the way you look. Yeah you’ve been there…
I’m Josh Ogilvie and I’m 23.
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