Birthday

I used to like birthdays. Being spoiled, centre of attention, all that stuff.
But when did it stop and I turn into an adult? Perhaps it's yet to happen, and so I've used my niece's birthday cake.

Today, I was happy sitting at the edge of the park, getting a few texts and basking in the odd knowledge that someone's managed to remember that I was born today and to contact me (thank g-d for facebook is what I say). It's still nice though, even the rogue text from the mystery well wisher who may be someone I went on a blind date with 3 months ago.

But it was a good birthday - in a sort of lazy summer way. Beautiful sunshine. Swing dancing in Kensington palace (thank you K. Palace!) and being kissed on the hand by a middle aged man with backpack who bobbed up and down on the dance floor like a cork.
And then, seeing an old friend and him laughing at how I was choking the swans with pieces from my £2.60 a loaf rye bread from the 5 floor health food store in Kensington. I bet they're used to it those swans.

I wonder if I'll get a thrill when I wake up age 72? Perhaps I'll be trying to get pregnant via IVF like those weirdo women on TV. Yuk! I talked to a woman in a bank call centre last week and she had the same birthday as me. We had a giggle and she said how old she was at 20. but she was so excited. Sweet.

Still, there are some birthday traditions that stay the same, aren't there:

• row with my sister
• wonderful flowers from my mum
• ate too much in the hope that calories won't dare take root today.
  

but this time there was also
* I can't believe I'm xx (not telling!)
* I still haven't climbed everest/become prime minister/raised 7 blonde children to sing in the alps or driven to leeds on the motorway.
*doesn't time fly when you haven't got that much done.

So welcome to my world. The Procrastinette. Step in and enjoy some laid back warmth, sip tequilas on the couch, but don't, whatever you do, do too much.