Living in a Post Birthday World

Thank you for all the good wishes, chaps! My 30th birthday went off without a hitch, and with the required amount of crying, rending of garments and shouting of "WHY ME!?" --and that was just the hangover.

By the way, there is a thing known as a whisky martini, which in retrospect I don't think I was meant to drink, I think I was just meant to sit near it and get buzzed off the fumes.

Let's see, what else. Unbeknown to me my friends had booked a table for dinner at a place so posh I almost wish I hadn't gone out in the clothes that I'd gotten for my birthday, which included a pair of Thundercats converse and a t-shirt with the words I Simply Walk into Mordor across the tits.

And Tequila Boy's Mrs. baked me a cake - red velvet with cream cheese icing - which fucking delighted me because I think the last time anyone made me a birthday cake I was three and it was in the shape of Thomas the Tank Engine.

I sort of feel like I should have been more miffed about turning thirty, but what the hell, LET THEM EAT CAKE!