A few years a go I would have imagined a big boozy blow-out for my 30th. Good food, strong reds and dry rosé, a few well thought out cocktails, the din of people chattering and ice knocking together in sweaty glasses as I floated around in a new dress with my cheeks rosy. Music and dancing, the crowds thinning out until it was just me and a few with stamina, putting the world to rights with a couple of fingers of whiskey.
Instead I sat in bed, my breasts leaking through my t-shirt, my pyjama clad daughter sitting next to me chewing on a jewelery box as I leaned over to kiss The Frenchman thank you. Thank you for the bracelet. Thank you for telling me I am the best thing to happen in the past 30 years. Thank you for creating this family with me.
And I couldn't be happier.
Although I wouldn't say no to a stiff drink...