I turned 38 on Saturday. I had the BEST birthday I have had in years. It began with a most enthusiastic rendition of “Happy Birthday” by Captain Chatterbox and Mademoiselle Headstrong. Following a very large evening out the previous night, the notion of breakfast did not provide immediate allure, so off we went to Captain Chatterbox’s soccer game, after which he was declared Man of the Match! Les enfants were then ferried away by my parents-in-law, and The Husband, upon arriving home, made me a very soothing brunch of eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. Oh, and a Red Bull for good measure. After a leisurely afternoon, a small but perfectly formed cluster of friends arrived for an evening of food, fun, booze, dancing and laughter. I take it as the sign of a brilliant night that I do not actually recall when it finished, but it was in the vicinity of 4am.
I felt much, much better than I deserved to when I woke up. I put it down to dancing like an idiot for several hours with The Super Tops Awesome Best Friend and The Fabulous Fellow Suede Fan.
After another marvellously grotesque breakfast and a long, long shower, I vowed to ensure a week of purity followed this bacchanalian interlude. I stoically denied myself a croissant on Bastille Day yesterday (je me sens si triste) and, thus far, the good work has continued.
It’s great to be alive, and a wonderful, fortunate thing to have enjoyed another year of life. Thank you.