Birthday

I managed not to blog about my birthday on my birthday...but it was in fact my birthday just recently. The day was spent being taken to The Shelbourne for high tea by the bf's mother and sister. I played along with the dainty sandwiches and precious cakes, but upon arriving home with the high-rent left overs I went to town and chowed that shit down. The consequences of indiscriminately mixing tiny smoked salmon wedges with fruit-topped custard tarts I'll spare you, but it wasn't a particularly happy moment in an otherwise lovely birthday.

The bf outdid himself by presenting me with a dress, a dress he chose entirely on his own. Here are the two extraordinary things about this dress: A) it fits, perfectly and B) I like it. Aww, bf, you so dreamy.

We then proceeded to spend the evening in my favorite way, eating our own particular brand of home-cooked meal, which always involves greens, rice and obscene amounts of garlic, whilst watching Sir Kenneth Clarke lecture us on his own personal view of Civilization. (A view, incidentally, that so completely side-steps any region outside of Western Europe and the east coast of America that one wonders if Asia, Africa and all other 'foreign' countries were even on the map by 1968. How delightfully Euro-centric it all is.)

My mother sent me a card containing $20. She made the very correct observation that regardless of the currency one uses, it is always a pleasure to receive a card bearing money. How right she is.