Happy birthday to me...

Howdilly ho. And happy birthday to me! (Well, yesterday.) I'm on a week's holiday from work and intend to string this birthday lark out as long as humanly possible to mark (or mask) the fact that I'm now fast approaching 30 and should be behaving in a bit more of a grown up manner. Or something. The flood disaster is almost all repaired (woohoo!) and the damage was not nearly as bad as we first thought, so now I'm knuckling down to trying out recipes from my new Hairy Bikers cookbook and that all-important task of planning my birthday party. (I don't have to grow up straight away, do I?)

So, what's it like being on the other side of 25? It's not so bad. I still consider myself to be mid-twenties. (I can get away with that for another year, surely?) And just to be contrary, so far there's nothing grown-up at all about my planned partay. The theme is the 80s - so we're having an all-out kitsch fest. 80s games, 80s clothes, 80s music, 80s cocktails, 80s crap party food - the works. I need to make a trip into some neon-clad shops very soon for supplies. I have a feeling this party may hurt everyone's eyes with the sheer amount of neon that'll be on display in the house.

Actually, I am being quite grown up at the minute - not only are The Other Half and I visiting his mum in hospital everyday (she's had a horrendous sounding operation to remove some vertebrae and have metal rods inserted in their place - and is on the mend), but I've pro-actively remembered to make myself an appointment with my doctor without receiving the shameful 'your 3-year check-up is now overdue' letters through the post. (Girls, you know which check-up I'm talking about. It's that not-painful-but-no-less-unpleasant procedure that's necessary yet icky.) So, I've got a nurse invading me with what can only be described as a miniature loo brush to look forward to tomorrow. Oh joy.