i’ll cry if i want to

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I know a lot of people, once they reach a certain age, prefer to ignore their birthdays and pretend it’s not happening, but I like to embrace mine and feel like I’m being made a fuss of, even if it’s only me making the fuss. This year I had plans to go to London, maybe Borough Market in the morning then on to Hyde Park, punctuated of course by regular pitstops for food.

In the nicest way possible, my plans were hijacked by Nick’s present to me, tickets for the four of us to the the Royal Ballet’s matinee performance of Cinderella at the Royal Opera House on my actual birthday. How cool is that? Despite my moment of panic when I opened the tickets and realised we had less than five hours to get there, OH MY GOD WHAT IF THE TRAIN IS DELAYED. FOR FIVE HOURS. Because these are the things I worry about, obviously; forget fires (Alice), floods (Jessica) and everything else (Nick), what if we’re LATE???

Pretending to be back in New York

But once I had my meltdown and stopped hyperventilating, we had enough time for a leisurely breakfast at Covent Garden and a cheeky bellini at the champagne bar in the Royal Opera House before the performance started. Oh, and a glass of wine in the interval. And ice cream in the second. Told you there would be pitstops.

LOVE the Royal Opera House

The girls and I enjoyed every minute of the ballet, though I suspect Nick was less entranced; at one point I’m pretty sure I heard snoring. Afterwards we headed over to Hyde Park for a picnic that we rather decadently bought from Harvey Nichols, it being the first store we found in Knightsbridge that actually sold food. Not that I’m complaining; the food was delish and also indulged my secret (shhhh) high-end lifestyle aspirations. After a spot of squirrel watching and daisy chain making, we wearily but happily wended our way homewards.


talk to me, I don't bite (hard)

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