Don't Cry for me Argentina

I spent my 38th birthday drinking with my friend Tasha. Well, I say she's a friend but why would she send me this photograph today where I look like a rollicking old drunk and she looks immaculate? Ho hum. I'll just put it up because I think there are some of you who believe that I only put good photos of myself up and this is to prove that I really can look like an old dog.


Tasha is the adventurous sort and we were actually planning this big European trip in the summer but now I'm not so sure. She's all about "let's share a bunk bed in a youth hostel. It'll be fun." Now she is forty and I am thirty eight and my first thought was, no to the bunk beds. I need a bit of luxury in my old age.

I really prefer to do my travelling these days while drinking a beer and watching the Travel Channel. I love watching those shows about people who buy International Properties - where you can get these huge villas in, say, Buenos Aires with a pool and full time gardener for something ridiculous like $250,000. As soon as I have the cash, I'm off. All I'll require is a full time 'pool boy' to service the, er, pool.

So all we did was get sozzled while I embraced getting old and the thought that I would probably never again stay in a youth hostel which has run out of toilet paper the moment you get the shits. I do have vague recollections of the youth hostel bunk bed days when you'd be awoken by some smelly German trying to get into your bunk in the middle of the night just because he was drunk and didn't know your bosom wasn't actually a pillow. And trying to sleep against the permeating stench of foot cheese. No. I can't do it. Sorry Tasha you are too much for me.

Or, never say never? Do you consider that although you are an 'old person' you still have the iron stomach and ability to shower once a week, not to mention stamina to enjoy one of those devil may care backpacking holidays?