I'm adding my two pennyworth to the ever growing mountain of "wow, I'm getting old!" and this is what if feels like, outbursts.

It came to me yesterday as one of my oldest friends and I slogged it through a heaving, churning London; twenty years ago, we were young guns, tireless, and able to get by on what passed for the Late 20th century version of a jug of wine and a loaf of bread: burgers and a kebab bought from the back of a van outside Brixton Academy after seeing Run DMC.

Days of wine and roses then, days of whine and woes, now. Both of us have slid in to the pose which two decades ago we certainly mocked, of truculent observers of everyone else's short-comings.

I've noticed something else: moans change, or at least their origin. The breathless, lust-ridden "oh yes" walked away in the night and never told me they were going, and left me their step-mother instead - the "Oh God, that drives me mad....I can't believe they did that..that really gets my goat, etc, etc.

Oh Yes...come back...I miss you