What had become of all the things we'd planned?

Enjoying a brisk stroll from the Recycling Centre, along the bank of the River Avon, it struck me; I've grown up. Maturity crept up on me whilst I was still laughing at knob gags.

Rolo yoghurts are too sweet and sickly, I prefer dark chocolate to milk chocolate, and I'd prefer a Roast Dinner to almost anything else you could offer me. In fact, given the option, I'd take the main course over the dessert on most occasions.

Food puberty is not all I've endured. Landscapes now hold inherent beauty, walking is pleasurable rather than a chore, while Terminator, Goldeneye and Die Hard are no longer good films.

Not only that, but I'm reading literature by Nietszche, listening to Elgar and have a vague awareness of Politics (although I still didn't vote, on the basis that they didn't make it effortless enough for me).

I find Television irritating and noisy, and have little to no knowledge of the music in the charts. A lot of my clothes are dark green or brown.

All this has happened by the age of 20. What is there left to do? Should I grab some Werther's Originals, a copy of The Times and a pair of tartan slippers; wave goodbye to youth and vitality?

Having said that, I'm still partial to running around fields, scaling foliage and I haven't watched the News in quite some time. Also seeing breasts in films is still a surprise. So perhaps it's not all over yet.