Time After Time

It's a Friday night. I'm at home alone. This used to happen a lot, and when it did, I would often spend the evening with music on, enjoying my dinner and a glass of port, perhaps a tinkle on the piano or write an entry on the blog. So that's what I'm doing now.

Except it's different. Everything is different. This is the first blog post I have written in a couple of months, my piano practice has waned, and I'm only just finishing off a bottle of port that was opened last July. In fact, this final glass has me I reflective mood, and here's why.

When I opened the bottle (a fine Sandemann's 10-year tawny), I had just returned from a wonderful weekend in Portugal, celebrating the wedding of good friends with more fine company. The latest wedding in a long line of weddings (number 25 I think) I have been to, and yet another reminder of time moving on at an uncontrollable pace. I was single, I was writing blog pieces to imaginary readers and I was spending Friday nights at home alone playing the piano and drinking port. Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. It beats shooting vodka through my eyeballs, vomiting in the street and burying my face in a kebab.

But this week has made me realise the vastness of life's transitions since then. Tonight, sitting at home alone with my port, I am staring at my new dining table with pride. When did furniture become so important?! I am texting my mate who has just completed on his house purchase (presumably furniture is about to become important for him too!) and later intend to be sat on the floor of his empty flat drinking a beer as I did when I moved into my place 18 months ago. Earlier today I bumped into three friends who I have not seen in a while, two armed with their young children, born since that fateful trip to Portugal. The third was with me in Portugal, and I have barely seen her since. Our brief catch up was long overdue.

Also in the intervening months, four more weddings have occurred, another date has been set and two more pregnancies have been announced (I feel a Richard Curtis movie coming on!) - good friends planning their futures together. I have found myself in a relationship and making plans. My house has become a home. Life is good.

And while I wouldn't change it for the world, the relentless passing of time just gets quicker and quicker - a relentless march towards middle age and beyond. that leaves me baffled and bemused The same friends who were married in Portugal have now moved there, another hockey season passes with my aching body taking longer to recover from each match, and my dear Gran was lost to this world over Christmas. Stop the world, I want to get off!

Life moves on, and I intend to enjoy the ride. Tomorrow I will celebrate another friend's 30th birthday. My 30th seems a while ago now; I have no idea how many bottles of port have come and gone since then! But I will celebrate surrounded by friends of all ages: some just leaving full time education, some getting their first place, others making family plans and a few, including me, contemplating the lateness of the hour and the number of drinks I can consume without feeling rough on Sunday.

Perhaps its the music, or maybe the port, that has caused this pensive admission this evening. I imagine most of us wonder where the time has gone, how we ended up liking quiche and discussing Brexit instead of Bieber. I hope it may strike a chord with a few of you, but don't get used to it. I intend to use my Friday nights more wisely. But just for now, for old time's sake, I need to open a new bottle of port.