So my brithday was this weekend (in case you didn’t realize it was on the 19th, I don’t mind if your presents get here late so don’t be embarrassed if you haven’t sent them yet). To celebrate I invited friends out to the Old Nun’s Head in Nunhead for drinks and general revelry. I drank shandies all night long so as to avoid any embarrassing drunken antics seeing as, at 32, I am much too old for that sort of thing now. While this is not a drink that Hank Williams would approve of crying into, it was still preferable to having a massive hangoer in the morning.
After the typical (for me) nervous wait to see if people would show up I ended up with a nice crew of wellwishers and a few lovely presents. The Little Black Book of Set Lists, homemade ginger cookies, The Ballad of Peckham Rye by Murial Spark and a book called Lost Chicago, a pink journal with cherry blossoms, and a Spanish penitent plush toy from Madrid where David and Jane had gone to see the Easter parades.
As the bartenders announced last call I realised (happily) that my table was the loud joyful one and that was a really nice thing to realise.
On Sunday morning, my actual birthday, I went out for breakfast with friends and then wandered slowly back home in the sunshine. Whilst talking to my parents later in the day we agreed that it seems impossible that my mother could have a 32 year old daughter. And then I watched some bad tv and made myself a gin and tonic.
It was a nice sun and friend filled weekend and that is a good thing to have.