I'm a little bit late with this, my birthday having been and gone over a week ago now, but I like to have a record here of how I spend my time so here I am, just in the nick of time before June finishes.
I'm really not that mature about my birthday; even at the advanced age of 36 I still expect to be treated like a special snowflake for the
After a lovely meal with friends on Friday 13th followed by cocktails, I spent a quiet weekend with The Boy before meeting up with my mum on my day off on Tuesday 17th. We chose Ashbourne in Derbyshire for our rendezvous and, after wandering around the charity shops buying bargains and having lunch in a cute cafe, she sent me home with a boot full of presents and birthday cake. On my Birthday Eve, Wednesday, I had another brilliant meal with another group of friends, although it was perhaps unwise of me to drink five cocktails on a school night. I wish I could say it's the first time I've ever woken up on my birthday with a hangover, but I'd be lying.
That evening T and I went for a quiet meal together before heading home to demolish the vegan birthday cake he'd made. I ended my birthday in just the right way: sitting in bed opening presents and generally getting very overexcited about the loveliness of everything.
Finally, our weekend in Bristol was the perfect end to a perfect birthday week. Can I really be 36, though? How can that be an actual thing that's true and real? I demand a recount.