The ramblings, almost certainly not daily, of a thirty-something year old. I named it sillily (and knowingly). I'm not almost thirty three, I'm past that, but can't be bothered to change the name.
As children, birthdays were big. As a result, they still are but, as I get older, they seem to lose a bit of the sparkle... I remember looking forward to my birthday for weeks, probably months actually. On our birthdays, we were allowed to choose what the meals would be for the whole day... Year after year my parents and sister were subjected to Wimpy burgers for lunch and spagetti bolognaise for dinner on my birthday. If I still had that, what would I choose?
It was a lovely Sunday. The sun shone, we sat in it. The sky was so blue it hurt my eyes, we looked at it. The food was good, we ate it. The wine was delicious, we drank it. The waiter was lovely, we loved him. It couldn't have been better.