celebratory shifts

I can't eat pies anymore, but that doesn't mean I don't fucking love them.

So, really, turning 31 was alright.

Got most of my London friends into a room, which to me, is why birthdays beyond the age of 26, should exist.

To see all the people you like, in one place. Boom.

Anything pre-26 involves being a lash hero. You get fucked, and you usually wear a funny hat.

Birthday parties pre-30 involve things like:
- Party at the Rat & Parrot in Grahamstown, don't remember the details (my 26th)
- Jacuzzi tubs, cigars, carnage and mampoer (my 25th birthday party);
- Hip hop gansta-themed house party carnage (my 24th birthday party);
- Pimms and lemonade garden party with inflatable swimming pool carnage (my 23rd birthday party);
- Liquid picnic on Clifton 4 beach in Cape Town, sand, carnage, wine out of a silver pillow (my 22nd birthday party)

Basically, the general theme is 'dress up; get fucked up.' At the scale only someone in their early-twenties can take.

My 31st was spent exactly how I wanted it. In a good English pub, with a small group of good friends, in normal clothes (well I did wear my I Love Pies t-shirt, but you know what I mean), casually sipping on vodka and sodas, talking shit.

What's a birthday without banter?

Talk shit, or die. Might've had a cheeky Jaegie. Even.

Vodka is my choice of alcohol these days - as I can almost function on that hangover, and the calories don't fuck with my diet.

Yep, times have changed. But I'm comfortable that I've done all that crazy stuff, and chinwagging over pints and pies in London - with friends from work, from school, from South Africa, from the UK - was the best way to spend it.

We did finish off some Cornish 'cyder' off at home, from a rather large glass jar a friend had bought - yes. That knocked us flat. Jayzuz.

I got tulips from my Dutch friend, bless:

One of my mates made me milk tart! Little mini ones!

Dude. I forgot that 'melk tert' even existed. And she baked these from scratch?

Dude. I have to ration myself and only eat one every two days.
I can't open the fridge, as they're right there calling my name.

I got really spoilt, and it was such a superb afternoon.

To balance out the debauchery, The Brit and cycled through Richmond Park on Sunday. It's a proper nature reserve to the west of London.

See? In my 20s I never would've done that. I would've eaten dip and crisps for dinner and watched Kendra, not moving from the couch for 24 hours. Chain smoking.

Actually. That sounds quite nice.

Must remember new diet has helped me lose 6 kilos. And will never try fucking hard not revert to fiendish old ways as tempting and fucking amazing and fun and awesome they were as it can be sometimes.