Lauren Bravo: When you realise you would be an ‘over’...

Not old-old, but... established. Seasoned. The moment you realise certain avenues are probably now closed off to you forever.

Traditionally, it was when the policeman started looking young. My mother claims that, for her, it was Blue Peter presenters.

In the Middle Ages, it was probably the man who pulled the corpse cart.

I, meanwhile, have just realised that if I were to enter the next series of The X Factor, I would be in the ‘Over-25’ category.

I hadn’t planned on entering the next series of X Factor, obviously, but now all I can think about is how, if a freak accident left me with a miraculous singing voice – or, at least, one which was even vaguely passable – and completely removed the part of my brain that feels shame, I’d be doing it alongside the olds.

I would be a Steve Brookstein. A Christopher Maloney.

They would put me in a jazzy blazer and make me sway on a podium while the young ’uns did cartwheels in hotpants.

I wouldn’t even get the regional vote – we’re not like Ireland or Newcastle, and I’m just not sure anybody from Sussex has ever voted for someone on the strength of them also being from Sussex.

Of course, anywhere outside of X Factor – professional football, baby ballroom and the Daily Mail’s acceptable ‘phwoar’ limit, over-25 is not old at all. It’s sprightly.

I still only use the second cheapest Boots under-eye cream. But in the bizzare world of commercial pop (a world where Robin Thicke is allowed to put on Misogyny: The Musical for three minutes of family entertainment), I am now basically Methuselah.

My best friend turned 26 this week, and so we did some friendship maths.

“We’ve been friends for 18 years.”

“No we haven’t, you didn’t like me in middle school.”

“Okay, we’ve known each other for 18 years.”

“18 years!”

“Our acquaintanceship covers three decades. When we met, John Major was still Prime Minister.”

“Our acquaintanceship is old enough to vote!”

“We could have an adult child by now! No, wait, that doesn’t work...”

However you look at it, it’s a long time.

Together, we have been through four stages of education, three different cities, many jobs, many flats and at least eight dubious haircuts.

It’s comforting to know, then, that if I do find myself in a freak voice-enhancing, shame-deadening accident and want to go on X Factor, I could just take her with me and enter in the groups category instead.