Wading through your thirties, as far as I can tell, involves the slow but steady acceptance of bodily decline. The first sniff of mortality lingers in the air. The first joints begin to ache. You realise that if you're going to enjoy the back end of your life, or even tomorrow, then some things will have to change.
Heavy drinking on work nights is out. So is leaving parties at 7am. Subsisting on a diet of Crunchy Nut cornflakes and takeaway pad Thai starts to feel unsustainable. You begin to expunge, or at least heavily regulate, the last residues