It’s my thirty mumble mumble something birthday today!
I love birthdays, I don’t really mind about getting
old older and I love being a spoilt princess for the day (quiet at the back, you lot).
This year’s was shaping up to be blinking rubbish, though. I have been feeling crappy since Monday and it all got a bit much yesterday and I ended up in hospital. No big drama, everything’s fine now but bloody hell I’m pants at being ill.
I cried at the GP, I sobbed in the hospital, I was generally a pathetic wreck. God help me if I ever have anything serious to deal with because I was a mess.
So now I’m on enforced bed rest, which would be like the Best Illness Ever if it weren’t my birthday and Christmas.
My Rock God Superhero has been a star and pampered me rotten. He cleaned the whole house today and has just this minute handed me a home cooked venison pie. I’m eating it with one hand and typing this on my new Kindle with the other. It’s flaming wonderful. The pie and the Kindle both.
My parents bought me a proper grown up watch, which is gorgeous, my sister made me a hamper of food and booze, my friends have given me books and candles and smellies and bling and its all just perfect and birthdayish.
The chums have been alternating between being sweet to me as its my birthday and being completely effing mental because of the Christmas hype. We’ve watched several films and had some snuggles and they’ve helped me open presents and eat goodies (gravadlax and caviar, and Belgian chocs).
I’ve had gifts and wishes from all my amazing family and my wonderful friends, far away and close to home, and I’m feeling very festive and safe and cosy.
So now it’s the evening, and I’m eyeing up the prosecco wondering if I should brave a delicious fizzy creamy birthday tipple (I’m guessing probably not) and reflecting on how blessed I am, that those around me rally round to make sure I have a day fit for a Queen even when I’m a shivering sweating mess.
And, like the Queen, I am going to have another birthday tomorrow where I can eat cake and be toasted at my parents’ house. Its a tough gig, being royalty, but one copes.