Beef Wellington swedged between a Chive Pancake and a healthy schmear of Ardennes Paté, with a Swede, Beetroot and Potato Gratin, boiled Vegetables; and Smoked Streaky Bacon with Shaved Sprouts and Leeks cooked in clarified Butter and basted in Béchamel.

‘100 things to do before you die’ - When you type this into Google it reciprocates with a myriad articles, guides and bucket lists compiled by people the world over, detailing their pre-death aspirations to complete a ton of activities and or/actions before the final curtain draws on what they may perceive to have been a rather dull existence.

There are the generic boxes that many wish to tick before meeting their maker: jumping out of a plane appears to feature heavily for instance, along with Scuba diving on the Great Barrier Reef, and running a marathon for charity. I even signed up to throw myself from a Cessna over the Bay of Islands in New Zealand a couple of times, unfortunately it was too breezy on both occasions and I was relegated to soaking in a hot tub of sulphurous water that smelt like ass (farting in a crowded place - number 86 on one list I’ve found). As for the Scuba diving I’m game should the opportunity arise; whilst re the marathon I got pissed earlier this year and entered a wager with my little sister insisting I could run a sub 3h 40m in London in two years time – my list expands.

There are some sentimental ‘to dos’ as well; ‘No 33. fall deeply in love – helplessly and unconditionally’. This can’t be planned I don’t think, and the harder you try to make it happen the further away it will become; a bit like Chinese finger torture.

In the past couple of weeks I’ve had to add ‘Boxing Match for Charity’ to my bucket having (again gotten drunk and) agreed to put up my dukes in the name of inebriated machismo, but more importantly a charity set up to research a rare mitochondrial condition that has affected a young relative of a friend of mine. In the name of this good cause and to punish myself for agreeing to run 26 miles around London and to inevitably have my arse handed to me in the ring in Spring 2013, I have decided to throw myself into training and have joined a gym called MAD (Martial Arts Den). The first session was exactly as it sounds, I’m not a fighter, yet.

Tomorrow morning I board a plane for Colombia to hike to the lost city with my Dad and big sister; I’ve now discovered it is a big one on the top 100 travel spots to hit before you pop your clogs, and this is what got me thinking about the things I want to do before I get burnt in a box and scattered on a trance floor somewhere in the first place. Not just because it is a great trip and something I’ve wanted to do for ages, but also because having read the government’s travel page instructing British citizens to “avoid the area at all costs” as there is “a high risk of kidnap by Colombian guerrilla rebels”, it may well be one of the last exciting things I get to do before said bucket is begrudgedly kicked.

So perhaps I should be taking stock of the last 25 years of my life, the first quarter; and the stocks are high after the Spring of my youth. Not in a literal sense of course, my bank balance is as it always has been, somewhat negative, and fortunately utterly incongruent with my positive outlook and zest to viva la vida. However after a fantastic birthday week wherein I ate at Dabbous, one of the best meals I’ve ever had (review to come), and got properly surprised with a party organised by my delightful girlfriend (see No 33), I wanted to reflect while I had the chance.