The Age of Weddings

It’s becoming increasingly easy for me to worry about the passage of time. Last month’s XFM club night brought back some particularly vivid memories of music from long ago, and the crucial “Woah! Was that really ten years ago?” mark has already passed for such significant events in my youth as Definitely Maybe, The Holy Bible, His n’ Hers, Parklife, and the suicide of Kurt Cobain. This summer it will be ten years since Pulp’s seminal Saturday night Glastonbury performance, which I listened to on a small transistor radio in the kitchen during the dishwashing job I had at the time, and the height of Britpop silliness: Country House vs. Roll With It. This week, of course, marks a full decade since Richey Edwards left his car at the Severn Bridge services and disappeared.

The world of indie music aside, however, nothing makes you notice the passing of time quite like the activities of your peer group. Gone are the days when we would get together to celebrate an 18th, or a 21st, or a graduation: in the last month or so it has become clear that for me and my contemporaries, the age of the wedding has begun.

Up until the end of 2003, I had never even been to a wedding. Now, I can think of at least 6 7 off the top of my head that Sal and I have been invited to this year, and we already have one pencilled in for 2006. And that’s not to mention the recent outbreak of pregnancies amongst mid-twentysomethings in London and Melbourne. These days, every time the phone rings, or an email drops into one of our inboxes it seems that someone else is making life-changing, adult decisions, and, gasp, growing up…

Sure, all of this is happy enough for the people involved, but somewhat depressing for me. Would anyone like to explain what happened to my youth? Where did it go?