Birthday Bubbles and Bodily Bits.

It was my birthday party last night.  Needless to say I'm teetering on the edge of impending death today having drunk my body weight in champagne and not crawled into my pit until 3am.  I've decided at 36 (!) I'm getting too bloody old for these shenanigans.

The party was in my kitchen, birds only.  I had the time of my life.  It started off oh so civilised with champagne, polite introductions and Waitrose canapés.  Within an hour however I was showing off the new underwear bought by my husband, trousers round my ankles whilst I paraded on my kitchen top.  I'm not shy, never have been, but as referred to in a previous blog post I thought the days had gone of me getting my bits out to all and sundry.  Apparently not.  I obviously just need more of a concrete reason these days.

A very old friend turned up as a semi-surprise from Hastings.  That's an impressive journey in one night.  She handed me a wrapped gift and I immediately asked "is it porn?" Randomly, it was.  The next half an hour was spent very happily with me getting my kit off (again) and recreating the pose on the front of the DVD.  Haven't watched the film but from the title and the pictures I'm pretty sure it focuses on gentlemen with an impressively sized particular area of their anatomy.

I love it when you are looking around a party and seeing people getting to know each other and thinking why isn't anyone very drunk yet?  Ten minutes later and people that were perfect strangers a couple of hours ago suddenly have their arms round each other and sharing their life histories.

We were dancing on the chairs and the tables to a classy combination of Rick Astley, Bros, Madonna and Kylie.  Apparently Agadoo was a step too far however and I was told it should be relegated to a playlist for the boys' birthdays instead.

My dear husband arrived into what he described as a 'war zone' about 12.45am.  I could be wrong but I doubt he has ever had so many drunken women draped all over him at the same time.  He said he was just hit by a wall of noise.  Everyone had been congratulating me all night on how clever I was getting my kids to sleep so early and to sleep through the party.  Stu obviously noticed when he arrived home that actually Zak was shouting at us to be quiet.  Oops.  Mother of the year.

My best mate Shelley and I walked each other home with a plastic glass of instant Pinot at 2.30am reminding each other how fucking fabulous and hilarious we were.  Having had a baby eight weeks ago I was seriously impressed with her staying power.  I bet she is having a just lovely time today however...

Another year older, none the wiser, slightly more pickled, cheerfully hanging.