Don’t rule out the possibility that, before the end of the week, this column will pop out to buy a packet of fags, order itself a pint of beer, or go off to university.

It is coming of age.

It was first published on October 5, 2004, so yesterday it turned 18 years old.

That’s more than 900 editions and more than 450,000 words, which is enough for five or six novels, half the works of Shakespeare, or half a Bible.

The original column was the idea of the paper’s editor at the time, who wanted something for middle-aged readers, in particular, to relate to, and for years it carried a strapline about me writing about life ‘on the wrong side of 40’.

Well, I am still on the wrong side of 40, so technically I am still complying with the first part of the original brief, even though I am now also on the wrong side of 60.

As for the second part of the brief, which was to keep it light-hearted: that’s more complex.

It brings me to the question I am often asked (bearing in mind that I effectively have a blank canvas and can write about anything, within reason), which is how I arrive at each week’s topic.

Well, much of the time, you can rely on everyday things just turning up that most people can relate to, and most things are pretty comical if you stop to think about them.

But over the course of nearly two decades it’s also inevitable that things are going to happen that are not exactly conducive to light entertainment, such as the deaths of loved ones.

As a wise man once said, life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans, and you can’t ignore them.

Then there are the times when you are at the Olympics, locked down in a pandemic or a queen has died, so the topic chooses itself.

Of course, the grand irony of writing a column about middle age is: nobody wants to listen to a grumpy old man.

But that’s not to say that you should shy away from venting your frustration, especially when you think Swindon folk deserve much better than they get (and I do).

But you earn the right to complain through balance, and paying credit where it’s due.

Luckily, there is no shortage of clever, caring and creative, so-called ‘ordinary’ people in Swindon, so it is not difficult to find positive things to say, too.

And I make no apology for staying proud to be a Swindonian, because our heritage, our culture and our diversity is something it is a privilege to celebrate - and as a town we should do more of it.

Finally: I couldn’t let this coming of age go by without saying that if you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoy writing it, it’s a very happy birthday indeed.