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Paul Simon sang about being ‘Old’ in his song of that title:

Down the decades every year,
Summer leaves and my birthday's here
And all my friends stand up and cheer
And say, “Man you're old.
You're getting old,
You're old,
You're getting old.”

I always thought his so-called friends could do with a slap, but they do have a point, however bluntly they put it. It occurred to me the other day that there will be a cohort of freshers coming up to Cambridge at the start of next month. That is nothing new in itself, but these freshers are slightly different: they are five years younger than me.

Suddenly I feel as if my early twenties have passed me by. The carefree days of pootling to Grafham Water with a minibus-full of dudes to go messing about in boats on the water; of staying up all night with a friend or two, talking about everything and nothing; of boozy dinner with a few mates before rousing the College with a roaring chorus of some folk song; of all-night parties; these days are in my past, and how few of them there are.

The carefree days of every barmaid in the local night-club knowing my name; of casual liaisons as they took my fancy; of bumming around foreign countries on tuppence ha'penny a day; of rallies and protest marches; of sharing a house with a group of friends; these days are in my imagination only: not few, rather non-existent.

I was never one for acting my age, and frankly I've always found hanging around with my contemporaries rather boring. Even at school, I found people my age dull, and spent my breaks with pupils one or two years above, until there was no year above. As an undergrad I preferred to socialise with postgrads when I could, and today, I find myself bucking the technology-company trend of offices with no employees over 25: most of my colleagues have been not far from middle-age.

But now I find myself socialising with my contemporaries more. Now I find I can relate better to my colleague who's only slightly younger than me, rather than my older colleagues. I find my friendships becoming a lot more ‘chummy’ than before, for want of a better word: less like meeting someone weekly to play chess in the park, and more like meeting someone weekly to play football in the park.

Actually, this chess/football contrast is quite crucial. Young couples often make public displays of physical contact — holding handles, nuzzling chins on shoulders, and such — but older couples are more reserved, at least outwardly; in the same way, young friends, from early childhood, will often play contact sports, give each other legs-up to climb trees and fences, crowd-surf, and tussle, but eventually grow up to maintain a proper distance.

But this gets us away from my point. Although people who consider me prematurely middle-aged will say I am having a mid-life crisis, I pooh-pooh in your general direction. All the same, I feel as if I'm caught between two generation gaps: one separating me from those who can remember Crackerjack, the other from those who can't remember when Thatcher was in power.

Life is not an adventure game, where you can go back and explore the alleys you missed the first time. Every action opens some routes while barring others. I've hardly been wasting my life, but still, I find myself wanting to go back and look down those other alleys.