So it’s your Clayton’s blogger here… the blogger you have when you’re not having a blogger. I’m shit at the blogging caper, let’s agree on that and move on.

To what do you owe this honour of being blogged at by yours truly? Well, a milestone birthday, if you must ask. DKG is turning FIFTY. Half a century. Yes the BIG L.

If that doesn’t deserve a blost (that’s a word I just made up to signify a blog post…royalties via my agent, many thanks) I don’t know what does.

You might think a blost might mean I have something to say, that this milestone birthday has brought about an epiphany, some sort of unlocking of the meaning of life. Alas no.

Life is steady, life is good and there’s very little of any interest to report. I continue to thrash around in my little life; craving peace and excitement in equal measure. My emotional range rides the pendulum between sadness, frustration, anger (I am easily angered and frustrated as those nearest and dearest will attest) and joy, anticipation, lust for life.

Frank Turner has a newish tattoo which says “Everything is not enough” and I’m coveting it because I often feel that way. No matter how busy I am I feel it’s not enough; I should be squeezing in more, seeing more, doing more, experiencing MORE.

But those feelings are counterbalanced by a need to do less, to rest, to peace out. Mostly an inner equilibrium is achieved but at times the two inner beasts wrestle…wearing mankinis in a giant pool of grape jelly (which we all know is the shitest jelly).

Where was I? Oh yes, waffling. Do I know more at 50 than I did at 20? Undoubtedly but I know it will less confidence. The more I know the less I understand and the less weight I give anything.

This quote always settles me, resonates with me, fills me with calm. We are so ridiculous, us humans, so self important and yet so pointless and little more than tiny fires which burn brightly but briefly and are forgotten.

I don’t believe I’ve gotten any wiser. Only that I’m becoming a little more detached which probably comes across as caring less but I care a lot, I’m overwhelmed by caring and equally by the futility of caring. So I semi-consciously step back, wrap myself in a self protective coat of disdain. Act cool, knowing I’m anything but.

So on the eve of my 51st spin around the sun I am as happy and satisfied as a human can be. A weird and wonderful family who have my back despite the various shit we’ve put each other through over the years; people of amazing strength and character. Kids who continue to survive my dubious parenting style and bring me crazy, love and joy in equal measure. Friends without whom I couldn’t survive and who bring me truth, fun and a reflective surface in which to preen and reflect on a daily basis. A man who takes my shit while having none of it, a rare and wonderful creature indeed.

Life goes on and life is good. If it ends tomorrow I have been a very lucky chick and have not a single true regret. I’m aware that the sands in my hour glass are getting bottom heavy but each grain of sand represents days and years lived to the fullest. Who can ask for more?

Onwards.