So, yes, it’s my birthday.
I think I like 28. It’s a good age. You’re well beyond the panic of “ah mah gah, I’m 25! Like, slippery slope to 30! No longer a yoof!”, and you’re definitely a proper grown up rather than a twadult. And yet! It’s like a gift in itself: two whole years more til thirty. That’s ages.
Not that there’s anything wrong with 30, of course. It’s just a bit scary.
I have been/will be celebrating my big day in a suitable grown-up fashion: with cocktails and a country cottage minibreak and, last Sunday, a rather fabulous tea party. Because I’m a laydee, who does laydees things.
(PS: Just by my right shoulder is my favourite picture ever, of me and my sister hugging. You can’t see her face or mine properly, but it says so much about how much I loved that girl and still do).