As Time Goes By...

Once again it's happening and I cant control a bloody thing! Yes, I'm another year older.
Anyone who knows me will know I like to have just a little bit of control over events, and this year was certainly NOT going to be an exception! My birthday this year was/is spanning over three days. Friday, Saturday (my actual birthday) and then sunday. Friday was oddly fantastic. We, as in me and Director Boy, woke late morning and had yogurt and fruit with a nice cup-o-tea*, Twinnings to be precise. Or pedantic, which ever you choose. Then headed out to Oxford street to spend, spend, spend!! Oxford Street was good as I got to shop and spend lots of someone else's money as I changed him (Director Boy) to how I want him. This would be a good point to mention I decorated and 'de-cluttered' his room the previous afternoon.
After a few hours of shaking my head anytime he picked up something hideous, I started to panic as this was also the evening I was meeting the parents. Not just meeting them, but having a 3 course meal with them. Father: who's a writer and happened to be the writer of one of my favourite children's programme's of my youth, 'Grotbags'. And Mother: who has 5 BAFTA's lined up on the mantle piece. This was enough to send me into a frenzy! Walking through Pimlico I was the epitome of elegance after Oxford St. however, on the inside I felt like I was heading for the guillotine. I was in way over my head. I can fake elegance and can fake knowledge, but this time I was certainly going to be caught out. A house where within holds Writer's, Producer's for the beeb**, Director boy's and Dean, sitting on antique furniture, eating from silver older than my gran, and all while these dreadfully off putting BAFTA's look on with their one normal eye and one lame eye.
We were greeted at the door by a very lovely looking woman, mid-forties*** dressed all in black with brilliant hair. Fiery Red, we found out later it was provided by Clairol as they ceased to make her old-faithful. Welcomed into the house, met the writer, Late fifties, definitely an English gent. Said hello, shook hands, so far so good. All is going well. And then Director Boy points it out- a birthday cake made by mum...

SORRY FOLKS, WILL HAVE TO FINISH IT ANOTHER TIME!








* Implements Yorkshire accent
** BBC, it's an insider thing :-)
*** Turns out she late fifties