I had a very nice birthday, once I'd thrown the hangover, thanks. Not a day over 18, I swear. I yell-whispered "ITS MAH BIRFDAY" and "WHERE'S MAH PHONE" at P for about 10 minutes when I arrived home at 2am on the morning of the big day, reeking of cheap bubbles and some vile energy drink/vodka combo. As it turns out, you can forgive a birthday girl quite a bit but some things are always, always annoying.
(I told him he should just be grateful I didn't kick on with the others. He told me that a decision to kick on is usually made by 10pm and doesn't get remade at 2am. He still made me a bday cuppa tea in the morning, so I was only in the dogbox briefly (whew).)
As part of my nice day, I hung out with my sister. We were flipping channels from my couch as we lazed following a tasty brunch. Then: golden moment! We discovered 'Making the Team: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders'. Now, you might think that K and I don't have a great deal in common. Sometimes that's true - I love tomatoes, she loves tomato sauce. She's an excellent sportsman, I have no coordination whatsoever. Etc. But when it comes to trash television, we have a shared passion for excellence. That show is beyond brilliant and I want to join the kick line (but I'm worried I'm too 'soft' and have a little too much 'jiggle' - the euphemisms were offensive yet somehow outstanding). How have I not known about it before?
Had a quiet evening with friends, watching the rugby and chatting. Just lovely, really. Oh, and I am devouring my new copy of Wolf Hall, superb (why yes, I am about four years late to the Hilary Mantel party, thanks for noticing my lack of cultural relevance. I am about to go and discover Hemingway or something, then present it to you like it's a revelation, OK?).
Birthdays are alright with me.