As you have all been keen to point out, I am now 30. After having a wonderful family pizza & haggis & cake shin-dig at home before we left, I spent my actual 30th birthday in London with my best drinking buddy (....it's Isaac).
We were staying in a dodgy backpacker-ish place leading up to the B-day (like D-day, get it?), however we decided it might be nice if we could sleep in a big persons bed rather than bunk beds for the auspicious occasion. The night before the B-day, we had dinner with Alice & Xtian & their new baby girl at their house. It was delicious, as we knew it would be, but Alice also surprised us with a cake, with, you guessed it, candles. And singing. Yikes. But, this lead to a container of 'breakfast cake' sent home with us, which I am very happy to report valiantly met its end as intended. Breakfast cake was devoured whilst gazing through the suicide-proof window beside my bunk bed.
We checked out of bunks-are-us and moved a little closer to town, staying in a self catering apartment for 2 nights. I also snagged a bottle of pink bubbles from the nearby Tescos as a wee happy birthday to me. We splurged and went out for dinner at the restaurant across the laneway from our apartment: the aptly named Bleeding Heart Tavern. Actually, we ate at the Bistro, not the Tavern as it was closed. Anyway, the laneway that the restaurant is on has a bloody history (here if you are interested), and I just felt that it was completely the right place for me. It was french food, and the wine was delicious.
I'm not sure how I feel about 30. I don't actually feel any older, and I know it's just another day. However there is something about 30 that says 'you are supposed to have your life in order by this point'. I feel like I had my life in order by about 25, and decided last year that that particular 'order' just wasn't for me. Perhaps the deep dark waters of commitment just aren't to be rushed into in the first place.
Whatever, all I know is that I don't regret anything. I think that I will become a gym junkie when we get home, that seems to be the usual 1/4 life crisis treatment - 'Up yours slowing metabolism, you aren't the boss of me!'. A tattoo seems a good idea too.
Here's a 30th birthday tune for you all, from the heart: