Happy birthday to … ME!

Whoo-hah, the big two-nine.

My birthday (Sunday, thank you for asking) started at 12.01 am with the unusual experience of dashing between Kings Cross platforms in search of the Hogwarts express with a law fellow in fuzzy boots and denim skirt (her, not me, thankfully).

Saturday had been an agreeable mix of Macbeth rehearsals, losing with the college team at Ultimate Frisbee and dining in London for another Australian-Scorpio-Lawyer’s birthday.

Frisbee proved that winter is setting in in Cambridge. On a beautiful, cloudless day it was utterly icy cold and there was a “lazy wind” (it cuts straight through you rather than bothering to go round) that was playing hell with my attempts at backhand passes. I’m still useless at competition Frisbee. I can throw and catch, but have no idea of getting in position on field.

Saturday dinner was great, Rocket – a surprisingly large and affordable bar and restaurant in Leicester Court, off New Bond Street, right next to the Bond Street tube station. Good to see some familiar faces from the Masters last year. One of those occasions where four hours (and a stunning quantity of red) slips by in moments. Each of us had two courses and quite a deal of wine for only 25 pounds – amazing in London.

My own birthday proper started with a morning birthday call from the parents, which could only have been sweeter and more loving had Dad not misjudged the time difference. My reaction to being sung “happy birthday” at 6.45 am, having crawled into bed from the train station at 2 am, was cursory to say the least.

The rest of the day passed at another rehearsal, and in napping.

My birthday party was a joint bash with a good friend from College, the English Civil War Historian. We had a “bring food to share at 7 if you want to eat, and wine to share after 8 if you want to drink” type party in the common room in my building. It went really well, a fabulous cross-section of people from College, our PhD programs and a flatmate’s visiting Mom (American). We probably had thirty plus people through at the height of events and more food than you could poke an undergraduate at.

I was also rather kindly showered in gifts: A “Mr Incredible” coffee mug (am still bursting to see the film) from a flatmate, an emergency package of Tim Tams and luxury gourmet coffee from other flatmates, Turkish delight (from a delightful Turk), some Jonathon Swift from literature PhD types, and some posters and bits and pieces for my room from Mum and Dad.

Was also treated to a Monday morning birthday call from best-friend and former Canberra flatmate the Ruminator.

All up, none too bad.