By Angela Garwood
Well, I made it to the other side of 30. I’m still here. Aside from a new-found steadfast commitment to my skincare regime and popping some extra multivitamins, very little has changed. I am in fact, still the same person.
It was a week of celebrations (as all big birthdays should be). Starting with a National Trust visit, because that’s what people in their thirties do.
We (the gang, my parents, my aunty and I) ended the afternoon sat by a fountain in Greys Court, munching on homemade chocolate cake. I felt both culturally and soulfully nourished.
I spent my actual birthday mainly eating. Everywhere. (Started my thirties as I mean to go on).
After a two-course breakfast involving multiple plates (I couldn’t decide between the French toast, the salmon and the scrambled egg so ordered all three, obviously) we nipped into my favourite toddler group so I could see some friends, and Joel could see what all the fuss was about. This was his first 4321 experience.
I was sat chatting when I noticed the entire sing-along group staring at me from the corner.
“We’ve been trying to get your attention,” said Sue, one of the group leaders, beckoning me over.
I approached tentatively, horrified, knowing exactly where this was going.
What proceeded was several moments of “Happy Birthday” sung by various mums (I mean at least 10) and their children.
I looked down at the giant 30 badge Maia had insisted I wear and wondered whether it’d be better tucked away in the privacy of my bag. Nah, where’s the fun in that. Plus I quite like being the centre of attention. For a moment.
Still stuffed from breakfast and embarrassed but equally delighted by all the singing, we drove to Henley.
The sunshine, the river, the spontaneous mini-golf we found ourselves playing (not my first choice but Leo lead the way and it was actually a blast); it all made for a joy-filled few hours. Then came more singing. Yes it was thanks to the badge.
We settled into The Chocolate Cafe for what started as a coffee but progressed into highly unnecessary lunch. (I’d only just digested breakfast). I wasn’t aware but if it’s your birthday and you happen to be a customer at this particular cafe, you’re in for the whole shebang. Not only does the manager and several staff members sing to you with one of those sparkly fire-work type candles, you also land yourself a free brownie. I mean; day made.
We whizzed back to Wokingham in time for the school run then Maia and I met with friends for ice-creams in the park. This was followed by dinner in town with my parents and the rest of the gang. Which of course meant more singing.
“I actually think I’m good Mum, you don’t need to sing, here, in the restaurant…”
“Oh come on! It’s your thirtieth!” She replied, having none of it.
So there I sat. Cake brought out by the waitress. Taking in a third rendition of Happy Birthday in public.
The joy continued into the weekend when I brought a handful of friends together for a meal. There was more home-made cake and the perfect storm of Prosecco, cocktails and tequila.
We danced, crowded ourselves into a photo booth and landed back in my kitchen at a respectable hour for wind-down chats.
My 30s have been pretty great thus far.
Angela blogs at The Colourful Kind
