I turned 52 yesterday. I like an even number in my age, it sounds nicer. Besides, I’m currently beating my dad’s life record by two years, so go me! This, despite the fact that the nurse who did my medical last year said I was so obese, I qualify for free help from the NHS.
My girlfriend (I feel I am far too old to use words like that) treated me to a day trip to London… To see something she really wanted to see. (Because that’s how girlfriends work.)
So, birthday morning and first we got to enjoy the present opening, including the annual birthday gift from my mum. Despite the fact that I never wear jumpers, and I have mentioned this on more than one occasion, quelle surprise – a jumper. And, as my mother is a seasoned smoker, the jumper went straight from wrapping paper to washing machine, as it began its swift journey straight to the local charity shop.
So, London.
My girlfriend had already organised the day as mentioned, with a trip to The David Hockney Immersive Art Experience at The Lighthouse. As we would be in Kings Cross, followed by a walk back to Covent Garden with a few hours to kill before dinner, I’d gone to Google Maps and found something else to do that sounded interesting. I’d shared the map with said Girlfriend earlier in the week…
Um, no.
So. The David Hockney Immersive Art Experience was excellent. And very immersive… Right until the point a woman sat next to us after 20 mins or so and seemed to have to point out every occurrence to her teenage son and daughter.
“Look, can you see that boat?”
“Look, see the trees over there?”
It’s hard to immerse yourself with Miss “State the bloody obvious” commentating in your left earhole.
Right, time for the Canal Museum.
Now, I’ll give the woman behind the counter the benefit of the doubt as a guide dog was lying on the floor beside her. But, I have to say, I was a little taken aback when she asked me if I qualified for an OAP discount.
It turns out the canal museum took less than half an hour. Probably could have done it in 15 if I hadn’t spent so much time desperately trying to tie a sheepshank knot.
Then off to Rules in Covent Garden (via Killick Street and a couple of pubs) for a slap-up meal, which included my first-ever Gin Martini. I knew it would be strong when he poured it and all I could think of was the word ‘viscous’. But fuck me, how James Bond holds a gun after even a sip of one of those bad boys defies logic.
Now, the booze may have affected us both more than we thought, because we started discussing the romantic dinner table topic of how many hundreds and thousands there might be in jar of hundreds and thousands.
It was at this stage, definitely a bit squiffy, we started chatting about birthdays. I’m not big into them for myself. They remind me too much of smelly jumpers. But to be fair to my partner (sounds more formal, but more grown-up than girlfriend), she is excellent at making mine special, and I’m coming around. I’m a lucky boy to have her.
I also worked out, as the conversation developed into what’s worth celebrating more, that I’ll be 19,000 days old next week!
