I AM a birthday girl
24.03.08, 7:10 pm

So, James went off to London this morning, after a four-day weekend spent entirely with me. We had a vaguely frantic packing session this morning, did about five separate washing up blitzes (mugs kept magically appearing whenever we left a room) and we had to go to arsing Morrisons to try and buy him a duvet to take down. All the cashiers looked very pissed off with having to work the Bank Holiday. And then I made him a beef sandwich to eat on the journey whilst he loaded the car up, and then we both got in the car and said our touching farewells and he dropped me home and then headed off to the M1. This is how the goodbye went:

James: You alright, babe?
Me: Yeah.
James: You sure?
Me: No I am, I�m okay. It�s not like you�re going forever. I dunno, it�ll just take some adjusting, that�s all.
James: I love you.
Me: I love you, too.

And that was it really. I felt pretty sad once I got home, though it all seemed a bit melodramatic with him not exactly moving to Australia or anything, but I�ve been doing lots of cleaning all day and it�s helped. I won�t bother going into all the reasons of sadness, as everyone is probably painfully aware of them � lots of �I�m just so used to him being at the end of the road�s and �He�s just so wonderful and lovely and boy-shaped�s. Anyway, he rang a while back and has landed fine, and the room he�s staying in doesn�t have any visible cockroaches, so it�s all good really.

Anyway, Easter�s been pretty quiet. On Saturday we decided to have a pre-birthday for me, as it�s my actual birthday on Wednesday (23 is just so old-sounding, and I cringe whenever anyone mentions the day in question) and James won�t be around. After getting up at 6am to watch the qualifying lap for the Grand Prix (totally mad), he then arrived back after it had finished with a cup of tea and presents, so brownie points were reclaimed. My card proclaimed BIRTHDAY GIRL!, which is just the kind of narcissistic shit that I love (my reaction: That�s me! I am a birthday girl!), and I got some truly ace presents. The pick of the presents has to be that the boy is taking me to Paris for a weekend to visit my sister, and we�re going by Eurostar because he knows that I hate flying. He�d been in secret contact with my sister and everything; it was just the sweetest thing.

Saturday afternoon we baked cookies on a whim, and I made enough to take to work on my actual birthday, and in the evening we went to the cinema to see No Country For Old Men. I did not realise that there would be that much murder and carnage per square minute, despite knowing that it was a Coen brothers film. Excellent film and everything but definitely not one that I want to see again. And my �burglar in the night� fear has now been upgraded to �burglar in the night armed with weird scary captive bolt pistol�.

Last weekend I went down to my gran�s and spent the night there (any longer and I go completely insane). We must�ve had 4 separate arguments about salt, namely the amount she tried to make me eat. I explained to her that the RDA was 6g, only to be told, �Who told you that? 6 GRAMS?! No, sorry love, I like salt. I like salt a lot. Anyway, I�m too old to be worrying about all that.� Be that as it may, I definitely am not too old (though the impending 23 makes it a bit more touch-and-go), and would like to still have two working kidneys when I hit 82. We also argued about the amount of butter needed on a sandwich: me � an average scraping; my gran � an inch-thick layer. I ended up making my sandwich myself, and the resulting product received a disgusted tut.

Work tomorrow. I�ve got the slightest inkling that I might be put forward for a promotion in September, but I�m not 100% sure yet. Hopefully I�ll find out when I finally have my 6-month appraisal. God, I�ve eaten so much Easter egg whilst writing this entry.

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