Today was my 34th birthday. I'm not massively happy with this as it's a number that isn't divisible by five. The husband did Dexter's morning feed, and I got cups of tea and pastries, as well as some lovely cards and gifts. Dexter had bought his mummy the Rizzle Kicks album, which I promptly spilt a glass of water over. Less 'Mama do the Hump', more 'Mama is a Chump'.
I left my boys at home and whizzed into Brighton with lovely lift-share friend to have our make-up done at one of the stores in town. Swigging Starbucks and trying out eyeliners meant we missed the entire Brighton Children's Parade which signifies the opening of the Brighton Festival. I've never really coped well with all of the whistles and shouting, and am pleased to delay the inevitability of the time when the boy will be taking part, possibly dressed as a lobster and caked in face paint.
The husband treated us all to birthday lunch at Jamie's Italian. Dexter ate his own body weight in bread and chips, and had a minor meltdown when one of the 'Clean Plate Club' stickers got stuck in his hair.
After last night's escapades, I could only manage a quick wander round, before heading home for a snooze and an evening of 'talent' shows. It's not quite the birthday celebrations of old, but I'm perfectly content with it: that's how I roll nowadays.