The One Where She Forgets to be Cynical (For a Bit)

You’ll have noticed there was no blog yesterday. Of course you will, because I know you come by here every day, don’t you? Right? Right?

I figured I’d give myself the day off, fully expecting to be gibbering incoherently (alright, more incoherently than usual) under a pillow.

The truth? Well, the truth’s better. The truth saw me stuck to the phone (arguing about scatter cushions, no less. It’s a very long story, and one that will make no sense to anyone. I’m still not entirely sure I understand it myself…) then shovelling Thai food and cake down my throat as fast as I could, and pondering why Team Jacob suddenly looks like a good option. A really good option.

My birthday’s sort of been running since the weekend – when I was hauled off to a surprise dinner at Belgo in Covent Garden, and met by several of my best friends. Belgian beer. Mussels. How can you go wrong? We were entertained by an unofficial cabaret of a table of plastered men who were downing shots of schnapps faster than they could count. Until they forgot how to count. And beyond…

I’ve been given some wonderful gifts: gorgeous art, tickets to see the ballet in the spring with my girlfriend, a copy of a favourite book from my misspent youth (“The Perfume”, one of the Point Horror series) and in a couple of days, I’m being taken to New York – somewhere I’ve always wanted to go – by my husband on a surprise trip. On top of all this, I’ve had so many messages and lovely phone calls I didn’t quite know what to do with myself.

Two things strike me at this point: first, that somehow, I’ve been lucky enough to wind up in the middle of these extraordinary people–all of whom mean the world to me. They’re family. I hope they realise that: I probably don’t tell them often enough.

Secondly: I have incredibly cool friends.

Thank you–all of you. You rock.

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