Last week I hit a half century. It was much more enjoyable than I expected it to be, but unwelcome all the same.
In my head I am still 15. I enjoyed being 15. It was the age where I knew who I was, and was able to do more or less what I wanted. I had no responsibility, I was well loved and looked after and I had friends who gave me cigarettes and bought me drinks, when I had no money. I spent most of the day with my friends at school and then saw different friends in the evening. I was happy and there was very little pressure on me, as long as I did my homework and followed the rules. There was so much laughter and happiness and excitement in my life. I fell in love every five minutes, I danced and I could run whenever I needed to and even if I didn't. Some things have changed, but I am still fundamentally the same person as I was at 15. I listen to the same music, I have many of the same friends, I still love reading and dancing and I still laugh at the same things. I can't run any more, although I am considering whether I might be able to change that. I have friends of a similar age who have completed the Couch to 5K challenge, and who now apparently enjoy running. Maybe in April when the weather warms up a bit and the nights are lighter. Mr C might even join me, if his knees are up to it. He tried to get me jogging with him many years ago when I was 19. He was in the Army and super fit, and his idea of motivating me was to run backwards in front of me, jabbing at my face with his finger to try to get me to catch him. The fact that I have not run since (apart from twice around the Wii Fit Island in 2009) suggests that such tactics are not especially motivating for me, but perhaps the Couch to 5K will be more successful.
I loved the freedom that I had at 15; the relationships, and the joy and excitement in my life. I wish I could once again be as brave, as active, as optimistic and energetic. But at 50, there is still a lot of joy to be had.
I have felt so loved over the last week. My family and friends have made the experience very special, and have helped me to celebrate a very big birthday. I spent a long weekend in London with the very lovely Mr C, enjoying the sunshine, exploring and eating glorious food and drinking lots of gin. We stopped in Earl's Court in a great hotel, where the staff were so kind and couldn't do enough for us. When we returned to our room on Friday afternoon, it was to find balloons, chocolates and wine, a birthday card, and cake.
We saw two shows - Book of Mormon and School of Rock, had afternoon tea at The Waldorf Hotel, dinner in China Town, met up with cousins in Covent Garden for drinks, spent a morning at the Victoria and Albert Museum, and fed the wild Parakeets and sat by Peter Pan's statue in Kensington Gardens. I loved it all, but especially tea at The Waldorf, where I ate my first ever macaron. And how fitting that it was golden, and someone had iced a picture of my boobs on the top, in chocolate. It's those little touches that really make a difference. I was ever so slightly mortified when the harpist struck up the opening bars of "happy birthday to you" and the whole room burst into song, but it was quickly over and forgotten, and very well meant.
And on Sunday morning, as we sat at a cafe (coatless, in February!) eating ham and cheese panini and drinking thick creamy hot chocolate (sorry Jane) overlooking The Albert Memorial, I realised that it was all going to be OK. I took out my journal and sat in the sunshine, watching the world go by, and writing about it, and felt like I had found my own personal nirvana. I gained five pounds this week, which made lots of people laugh at our Slimming World group (I am usually a bit of a goody two shoes), but I enjoyed every mouthful and every minute.
In addition to the London shenanigans, I also had lovely lunches out with my big sister and her family, a shopping and lunch trip with Foxy and a vintage shopping outing with lunch with two of my favourite Nursery ladies. And today I am back to fruit and yoghurt for breakfast, and hopeful that it won't take as long to lose as my Christmas gain.
For me, 50 was golden because I spent it with many of my old favourites - and even those who are many miles away made me smile by sending cards and flowers, balloons and chocolates, and kind birthday wishes on facebook. T came home from Uni, L made me a card with nail varnished love hearts and H sent me a lovely message.
And I have so much to look forward to still - a Summer party, a Winter trip to Sri Lanka with Singapore Sally and then after that, if I'm spared (oh God, I really am 50), many more birthdays.
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