Wishing me

I sit here alone in a melancholic and just in a slightly hungover state on the morning of my birthday with not a glass of bubbles, but a rapidly cooling cup of coffee. I am used to cold coffee. I have grown used to it. In a few hours I must go to work. I expect R will stay up late enough tonight to wish me happy birthday, or maybe not. It is not a significant birthday.

Last Saturday night we celebrated my birthday with our brother friends at the local pub. Everyone else was busy. They brought along their friend, the owner of probably the best known Thai restaurant north of the Yarra. We have met him before. He is ok, although when he mentioned the unions holding Qantas to ransom, I decided politics was not to be the conversation for the evening.

There won't be a family get together for my birthday. I am not really displeased, although I think this is a first. There won't be a gathering of friends. Again, I don't mind but another first.

R took me out last night to a posh restaurant with a 25% off voucher. We caught the bus. We romantically dodged fast moving bicycles and walked along the river at Southbank to get a tram home and saw the illuminations on Hamer Hall. We forcefully exited the tram by deliberately brushing past a bit hard the people who were standing in the doorway of the tram. Life is good.

I then opened my two gifts, a book from R and a book from our friend in Japan. Can you believe she left it here when she visited a couple of months ago and I did not know. I must be getting old.

You know what would really cheer me? If I get some comments wishing me happy birthday. My internet life will be validated.