Last weekend it was the birthday of a friend who lives in London and I travelled up to Soho to celebrate with him. This is a guy I’ve known since we were about 20/21 and he’s just beaten me to 29. I don’t know where all those years have gone, but it got me thinking back to when our younger selves would visit gay clubs, comment on how old some of the other guys looked and laugh that we’d hopefully bow out gracefully and have the sense to quit the scene before we reached the dreaded ‘Big Three O’ (30 seemed a long way off then) and that being gay and partying surely has a limited shelf life.

Now we’re both on the cusp of turning 30 it really doesn’t feel old at all (not that I’m ecstatic about it) and we joked that 40 must be the new 30, buying ourselves an extra 10 years! In fact, the only real difference between now and nine years earlier is how young some of the guys on the dancefloor look – surely these baby faced youngsters aren’t really over 18?

To compound these thoughts of getting older I discovered my first white hair the other day, but I’m choosing to think of it as a highlight as going grey at my age is not something i want to contemplate! And on Saturday night I was standing at the bar, all brightly lit from above and reflected in the mirrors, and caught myself sucking in my stomach for the first time! I was feeling very on show and regretting my choice of figure hugging t-shirt – definitely time to get back in the gym.

When you’re young and making your debut on the gay scene you take all the glances and tracking eyes for granted. Actually, I remember finding it both seedy and exhilarating at the same time. Now I’m aware the eyes following me are sparser and that it’s more about fulfilling a particular look than anything else – being young is kind of a catch-all for all those roving eyes, whereas a few years down the line you can hope to tick some people’s ‘type’ box.

I’m sure some women have similar mixed feelings about being objectified by strangers in public – while it might be sexist harassment for workmen to stare at women and audibly appreciate them as they go past, those same women must notice it when the whistling stops.

However, just when you’re resigned to the fact that a whole new generation of younger gay guys are stealing your glances, you spot a minor gay celebrity at the other end of the bar checking you out quite openly and persistently, something I found both seedy and exhilarating at the same time.