I has eated all the cake

This evening we had another attempt at a birthday party. (I’m slightly disappointed that nobody went to the restaurant at 3:30 this morning, but you can’t have everything.)

This time, everyone turned up, which meant I didn’t spend a worried hour chaindrinking prosecco. I think it was dodgy prosecco (or it was a dodgy massive gin and tonic last night, or, or, or something) because I had a stabbing headache for most of the day, that got worse and worse until the first beer of the evening.

Oh, ok. I understand. It’s because I didn’t drink any coffee today, obviously.

Pepenero, the Italian restaurant we went to (again), has pretty good food, but enormous portions. That’s no bad thing, but bloated on bread, beer and wine, I was pretty full by the time I’d finished my starter, so chowing down on a plate of ravioli as well was a marathon effort. Still, I prevailed and, after I’d cleaned my plate, they brought out a wedge of tiramisu with a candle stuck in it. That’s the fourth becandled cake I’ve had since Saturday morning, and I’m beginning to get jaded. If anyone provides me with a baked good (funny how there are few synonyms for cake, isn’t it?) with a candle stuck in it tomorrow, I might just hide under my desk and cry.

(There was a point this morning when, either/or hungover/jaded with life, I declared that I didn’t want to have any more fun. I don’t have the time for it. I could be spending my time sat at home on the sofa, wearing only my underpants and eating potato crisps. But you shouldn’t listen to that voice. That’s the voice of defeat. That’s the voice of gloom. That’s the voice of continuous repetition.

Oh, but I like repetition.

I like repetition.


It was lovely to see my friends, and lovelier still to eat lots of food with them. Two sevenths of the party were pregnant and thus unable to recklessly inhale booze, but there’s always next year. Or, on present form, the 365th day of my 39th birthday party.

I went home, where I got on Skype with my daughter until she got upset that she couldn’t turn me upside down. I did not realise that the gyroscopic image alignment correction of an iPad would be so aggravating to a two year old. So that’s what I learned today. (And that I can make La Serpiente happy by holding my head upside down and gurning into the camera, although the sudden rush of blood to the head was a bit more than this old man can stand. So I sat down.)

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