Happy Birthday to me

And it has been, despite the somewhat shaky start which necessitated a couple of nurofen and a great deal of coffee.

I felt better after that, and it has been a day of the very nicest things happening.

Of course the first job of the day was to collect Oliver, whose summer starts today: when I got to school he was bouncing up and down and waving madly on the bank at the top of the drive, in the company of lots of other ecstatic small boys. He was grubby and covered in freckles and his hair appears to have grown into a tangle of self-determining curls, and he had got several more bits of him bashed and chipped and generally a bit worn from over-hearty usage, but he was bright-eyed and suntanned and an inch taller than when I last saw him.

We loaded up his whole school life, smelly cricket kit and quilts and back issues of the Beano and carefully wrapped Lego creations,  and screwed up bundles of discarded school uniform and his bike all crammed in to the back of the car. He dived in and spent the first twenty minutes of the journey in blissful silence, cramming huge fistfuls of warm, sticky tuck into his mouth to compensate for having spent the year at a school with determined commitment to a healthy eating policy.

I had thoughtfully provided a wet cloth, and after a while he sighed happily, gave his fingers and mouth a completely ineffective wipe, and settled down to talk.

“You know you draw pictures of what you are doing on your letters when you write to me?” he said, “the thing is that I like the letters but the pictures of you that you draw don’t look old enough. You need to put more wrinkles on them, so that I know it’s meant to be you. Round the eyes.”

I contemplated that one so thoughtfully for the rest of the journey that I can’t remember very much else that he said, so I will have to catch up with his news from Mark later.

We got home shortly before my parents arrived, and the computer was full of people saying the kindest birthday things. I am rubbish at being organised for people’s birthdays, and I was truly humbled that so many people had taken time to say nice things. There was a card from Elspeth that she had designed herself that was only a bit derogatory, and one from my sister with a pile of theatre ticket tokens, which was fantastic: and then my parents turned up with some absolutely brilliant presents, anyone would think they knew exactly what I would like.

There was a skeleton money box that opens its mouth and puts the penny inside when you operate a little lever in the back: its eyes pop out hideously on springs and Oliver and I have played with it for ages, even now at almost midnight I keep popping back for another go and being happily entertained, it is ace. There was a sign warning you not to use the toilet whilst the train is in the station, which I thought was brilliant, and a tasteful stand for a recipe book which will be entirely useful.

Also my Dad has made me a spice rack, which I needed more badly than I can tell you, and it is smooth and beautiful and splendid and has got my name burned on to it so everybody will know I don’t have to buy things from Ikea like the common herd but have personalised craft objects of superior beauty in my house, also it is big enough even for the fat jars that you get in Booths that don’t fit on any other spice racks.

We went swimming then, early because we had got Oliver with us so we had got to slot into the time when the WholePerson Wellness Holistic Spa allows children in, and we had the most fantastic time being exactly the sort of people that we go later on in order to avoid. We chased Oliver up and down and shrieked and splashed and threw his ball about and dived on each other and were such a general nuisance that we managed to empty the pool in less than ten minutes, everybody went and sat sulkily in the sauna. I thought about popping my head round the door and suggesting that they do what we do and go later when it is quiet, but refrained.

Even my parents swam, which was brave, because the water was jolly cold today: and then we rushed home to get changed for dinner, which was wonderful. We met up with my brother at a restaurant in Bowness where the service was a bit rubbish but the food unimaginably delicious, there was loads of it and we ate until we were at bursting point and in the end had to explain to the waitress that we needed a couple of doggy bags, one with bones etc to take home for the dogs, and one with chicken tagliatelli to take home for my lunch tomorrow.

I am fifty now, so I don’t need to give a hoot what anybody thinks, and of course they didn’t think anything anyway, just politely wrapped it up and gave it to me to stuff into my handbag. It was absolutely gorgeous, goodness alone knows what they did to it but it was quite the nicest pasta I think I have ever eaten, and to my joy I shall be eating it again tomorrow.

It is lovely to be me. It is lovely to be fifty. It is lovely to have family, and friends being so very thoughtful and kind. It is lovely that my hangover from yesterday is better.

I am content.

PS I haven’t got round to replying to everybody who wrote to me yet, thank you all so much, I have read them all and will write tomorrow, it is my bed time now. I have laughed so much and felt so happy today. Thank you…