32

It sounds so grown-up, doesn’t it?  This is my main thought on turning 32 yesterday.  I haven’t had many thoughts yet, to be fair – as my first 24 hours or so of being 32 have been spent with a stinking cold, a mild hangover, a sudden attack of the mean reds, and doing a lot of sleeping.

However, my final days of being 31 were spent delightfully – which was particularly welcome, as 31 has been a crazy year.  If I had to sum it up in one word it would be thus: rollercoaster.

Last week, I took a couple of days off work; I embarked on an epic train journey down to Devon, with my mum, my boyfriend and a picnic.  We hung out in the countryside, in sunshine and with brilliant friends and animals; we went to a birthday party for one of my favourite people in the world, with party food and live violin and hilarity.  The next morning, many chatty cups of tea were drunk in the sunny garden before we had to leave.

Then a couple of days at my mum’s – where I sat in the sunshine, cooked, watched a lot of TV (Nighty Night and Honey Boo Boo), and hung out with brilliant family members and friends (including my soul sister Lily*).

There was another brilliant party – in blazing sunshine and ending with the sort of setting-the-world-to-rights conversations that all big parties should.  Then yesterday yet another one, as my lovely sister cooked me an amazing birthday lunch at her new flat, which involved such joyous elements as mini sausages and vodka pasta and cake.

I was thoroughly spoiled, with such presents as Chanel No. 5 (a ‘grown-up girl’ gift from my mum, which delighted me no end), the best Leonard Cohen T-shirt in the world ever, a stripey top that I would have chosen myself plus matching nail polish, a beautiful red handbag from Rome, the Girls boxed set, jars of my favourite chocolate spread, a genuine Viennese sachertorte…

* who is a dog, for those of you who don’t know.

It all looked kind of like this:

Messing about with my mum on the train to Devon.

My lovely sister and me.

My other sister and me.