When you are eight you dream of mountains
Of presents wrapped in glitzy paper,
A bike with a voluminous bow on the handlebars
And a cake in the shape of Ed the Duck.
When you are eighteen you just wish for booze,
A night on the tiles, with shots and kebabs
And on the the age of twenty eight
Where things are a bit quieter, and you ask
For some sensible clothes for work
And boots and a rain jacket too.
Now I’m heading to forty, just two years to go –
And I think most people have forgotten
But now I take pleasure in the small things,
Some books from the charity shop
And a cake topped with strawberries and cream.
Thirty eight seemed so old, but now
It seems so wonderfully full.
I turned thirty eight today and I knew it was going to be a bit of a wash out because we’re all recovering from COVID and dad’s off on a trip with his friends.
However, I did venture out to the supermarket and so I also hit Matalan and the charity shops to get books and sensible trousers for work.
I had to smile at myself because I felt wonderfully happy and content. When I was drinking, I always wanted fireworks and crazy highs and having a bit of a naff birthday would have resulted in a meltdown where I blamed everyone around me for not loving me enough.
Today, I’m here with a Mug Shot cheesy pasta, Strictly Come Dancing and a strawberries and cream cake from Tesco, and it feels like me cup is half full.
I’m just hoping that when dad arrives tomorrow that he’s going to take me for a cheeky Nandos – then my cup will be overflowing.