SWINGS AND ROUNDABOUTS...

I was going to write about how I allowed myself to spend a day planning, yes me, planning for my thirtieth birthday celebration. About how I went to The Wolseley, with its vaulted lofty ceilings that made all the people look like little ants rattling around having their afternoon teas. It's mix of Viennoiserie and Chinoiserie that was so grand, that seemed as if it had always been there on the corner of Piccadilly despite having been a car showroom and a bank in previous incarnations. And how it was lovely but it's impersonal vibe didn't feel like the right place to go on my birthday.

So I entered the hallowed foyer of Claridges where the staff were all of indeterminate European origin and a tad snooty and unaccommodating. But the upholstery on the chairs was beautiful and the art deco surroundings were gorgeous. If only the staff, tourists and businessmen could have been transported elsewhere.

I carried on my search for the right birthday venue and ended up at Cecconi's where it was kind of old school cosy sophistication but with friendly staff. Then I was going to tell you about how I wrote and re wrote my guest list and realised that I do want my family and my friends, all of them with me when I turn 30. Even if that might be tricky and I might get let down or disappointed.

But then I found out that a good friend is going to finally be a father and spoke to another who is going through a really difficult time. Then another who is falling in love and another who is struggling with all the shit that life and being human contains.

Change is happening all around, good and bad, and seems able to turn into its opposite at any point. All there seems to be to do is carry on, feed Lola, make the reservation, spend the weekend finally going through my mother's belongings, tidy the garden, complete my foundation course tomorrow evening, turn 30, somehow be there for everyone and for myself.