13 days and counting.


I am not a big birthday person. I haven’t been since I stopped going to the circus for my birthday when I was about 9. (I used to quite like the circus and the fact it stopped at the park near my house on my birthday was always quite convenient). This year, I seem to be (unintentionally) milking it for all it is worth. I caused some slight offence by not going home for my actual birthday because I had plans, so I made up for this by going home the weekend before. Cue celebration number one complete with cake, a meal, banners, presents. Peachy.

I then returned (somewhat begrudgingly) back to a four day week at work last week. Since it was a bank holiday weekend last weekend, what did I come into at work last Friday? You guessed it, balloons, presents, banners and cake. Admittedly, I did supply the cake, since that is pretty much accepted to be the protocol with the vultures in my team. Half the team managed to devour near 50 cupcakes. It was quite something. Said cupcakes were all made in one evening. And you know, when you are on limited time, everybody knows you don’t just make a recipe you know, you go and find the most elaborate one that then expands in the oven about 3 times more than you thought it would and then results in weirdly shaped offcuts. Delicious delicious offcuts… Celebration number two.

And now to the birthday weekend. My original plans fell through (probably for the best). With Fern on painkillers strong enough to knock out a rhino and me suffering from a severe case of the empty bank, the Otley run was probably not ideal. The pirate fun times will have to wait for university and the infamous Ocean Wednesdays. With the Otley run aside, what did celebration number three entail? Cake, a meal, films, mild bullying. Saturday was fairly mild on the bullying at least. We only mercilessly used the phrase “Fern can’t do that because she has whiplash” about 1,000 times. I only stole Naomi’s phone and changed her relationship to “In an open relationship with Pie” once. She only retaliated and stole my shoes (well, shoe, because she failed) once. Fern then only threw one shoe at a stranger in a coffee shop. See, only mild.

Sunday was worse. Fern and Naomi decided ‘Lottie’ is a dogs name and then proceeded to call me as they would a beloved pet until they eventually left the box I call a flat. Sunday did have the benefit of the following: *Cue any remotely unappealing* “You can’t say / do that to Fern, she has whiplash. You can’t do / say that to me because it is my birthday.” Naomi was the unfortunate one with no go to phrase. That did not, however, stop them from their dog comments. The fact I slept on the floor to graciously give them the bed only added fuel to that fire.

I still have celebration number four to look forward to in Nottingham. There might be some mild celebration in the form of alcoholic consumption in Spain, but then again, that might just be us drinking for no reason. We’ll see.

As my signing off gift to you all, please find below a beautiful depiction of my helmet. It is for safety. Naomi likes it.

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