Three decades ago, I celebrated my 30th birthday in the time-honoured tradition of all young people who think they are an adult but have no real idea about life, duty or personal responsibility — I got smashed.In fairness, I had quite a lot to get smashed about. I had spent the whole of my 20s in one seedy rental after another while I supported myself with part-time jobs and tried to be a writer. But a week before my 30th, I got my first book deal and, the day before, I got my first real job in journalism.I had always said I wanted to be a writer by the time I was 30 and I did it with 24 hours to spare.
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