Monday, 24 February 2014

On the birthday, and other exhausting things

So, it was my birthday on Sunday. I am now thirty years old. Or, to put it another way, I am in my 31st year, which makes me sound even older. I am cream-crackered. I worked on Saturday morning (the shop had been jazzed up with decorations by the girls the night before, and they left me a cake). That was until about three, then I went straight off to Brighton for a late lunch/early dinner with friends. Following the extremely tasty, but extremely harried bite of Japanese (there's no shilly-shallying in Pom Poko, you sit down, eat, and get out the way), it was straight to the pub. The Mesmerist is a fine, eccentric sort of establishment that I been frequented, on and off, for a few years now, but several people I know have independently discovered it recently. So it was to there, with the cosy booths, retro music and in-house barber, for several hours, before going on a wild goose chase for a Doctor Who themed party night that I'm not sure actually ever existed (maybe it fell into a crack in time), and eventually ending up in R Bar, having very deep conversations with frighteningly young people. I am pleased to say I wasn't sick, in spite of the unwise mixing of drinks, although certain other parties were less fortunate.

Sunday, the day itself, was initially intended to be a quiet one with family, but later on, I was tempted into attending the Brighton Twisted Market, or, at least, its associated afterparty. In the event though, I wasn't up to it, which is a shame, because it sounded like an... educational sort of night. I'd started out feeling surprisingly well, but as the day went on, I felt worse and worse. A progressive sort of hangover. This did take some of the joy out of the spectacular feast my Dad cooked up, but it was all good enough that I overcame my biliousness and ate a great deal of wonderful food. I think two nights on the trot is too much for my old body. I also have several bruises down my right-hand side, which I cannot account for.

I have done exceptionally well for presents this year. They fall, broadly, into two camps. Half of them would suggest that I am a sophisticated, mature man, who enjoys fine clothing and accessorises well. As well as some particularly smart new clothes, a new tie pin and cravat pin, and a fobwatch, I got a suit voucher - which is to say, my sister drew a spectacular voucher for me, and everyone put some money in, which I am obliged to spend on nice clothes. The other half of my gifts wold suggest I haven't matured at all since I was about seven. You can expect in-depth analyses of such TV classics as Eerie, Indiana and Teabag in good time. The books and toys probably say more about my personality than the clothes do, especially as half of them were right off my wishlist. Plus, they led to the most amusing encounter of Saturday evening, when entering the second bar.

"Excuse me, sir, may I see what's in your bag?"

"It's a Dan Dare spaceship book!"

"... you can go in."

Plus, I got the a Hammer Horror box set, two Sherlock Holmes films, a colouring book, a fascinating looking graphic novel by Yoshitake Amano, Scott and Wright's Who-ology book... I'm not going to be bored.

But I really just wanted to say thank you to everyone who came along on Saturday night, for everyone who made the effort and spent the money on far too many presents for me, and for everyone who wished me a happy birthday, with special shout-outs to my sister Becca for organising my suit voucher, my parents for making me feel very loved and spoilt, to Rosie for not being too angry at me for being too old to do two nights in a row, for Naomi and Jaimie for the work birthday surprise, for Sekai and Iris for coming all the way down from London for me, for Louise for my sexy William Riker birthday card... and much more. It's all been rather wonderful.

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