My name is Michael and I’m middle-aged. It’s undeniable, although God knows I’ve tried. This summer, I reached 45 – the midway point of my fifth decade – and it set me thinking.

I’m a grown-up: a home owner with a partner, two children and hairs sprouting from unexpected places – yet I’ve failed to grasp so many things that younger me thought I would master by my 40s.

Forty things, as it turns out. How apt...

Cigars

They still taste like burnt rugby socks and I still feel like a Groucho Marx tribute act smoking them.

Classical music

Is it off an advert, a high-end detective drama or a sporting montage? Because otherwise, I’m lost.

Knowing the barman

I always assumed I’d have a home-from-home local where they’d warmly greet me and ask “The usual?” Instead I’m invariably met with a blank stare from a surly hipster.

Car maintenance

Change a flat tyre? Replace the oil? Actually, I’ll just call the AA.