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Issue 247

Issue 247

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Chances are, if you're reading this, you've had somewhere between twenty and thirty years knocking around this planet. You're probably packing both X and Y chromosomes (no offence ladies, this is just statistics). You've got a job of some description and have been surfing anywhere between two years and two decades.

Align these stats with the general population and we can assume that although you're not staring at the ceiling in your childhood bedroom, you probably don't own your own gaff either. Let's assume you're banking enough paper each month to enjoy yourself and not notice that  trickle of student loan repayments leaving your paycheck, only to drip slowly into an ocean of tuition fee debt.

And what a glorious blessing that all is. Wonderful. No longer is our generation expected to flick the adult switch somewhere in our mid-twenties, and we even get to blame it on boring stuff most of us don't understand, like housing prices, the global economy and interest rates. Without the previously easily achievable adult-ing goals of home ownership, responsible parenting, pensions and car finance we find ourselves joyfully bobbing along on the tide of an uncontrollable force, smiling like a teenager as our extended adolescence drifts way past the age our parents had produced us AND our younger siblings.

So embrace it. Peter Pan it. Never grow up. Sink your disposable income into travel. Fly away to all those places we stare in this magazine and gaze at on Facebook. Book a ticket and fill your own Instagram with #blessed #wanderlust and #nofilter. Write your own stories, create your own scars, make some new friends and some old mistakes. Then do it all again. Why? Because you can.

Actually, don't do that Instagram thing, I got a bit carried away there, that’s lame. You should probably have kids at some point too, just to make sure there's someone around, you know, IF you do someday get old.