My birthday: it seems odd to write that, and it's not really true, even now. Yesterday was our birthday, mine and my grandmother's. That's what we always called it, because that's what it is. Had she lived, Grandma would have been 93, which is a long life by anyone's standards. I, on the other hand, just turned 39, which I've just realized is a palindrome when you stick it together with Grandma's age.

Wherever she is now, I sincerely hope that she had a birthday as marvelous as mine. I wasn't really expecting it to be so good, with Grandma recently dead and all, but luckily I was wrong.

Elvis and I went out for dinner to our favorite restaurant, and the food and wine was fantastic, as always. For dessert, we each had a glass of 20 year old port, and as a present, the owner gave me an nearly full half-bottle of 1999 vintage port to take with us. Vintage port needs to be consumed within two or three days of opening (unlike other ports, which remain good after opening for months and months). They'd just opened this one yesterday, served only one glass, and not many people order it so it was unlikey to be used up last night. If it were me, I would have sucked it down myself, but they generously gave it to me instead. So we promptly took it over to the pub and shared it out amongst our friends.

And later on, at the Irish Pub, my friends gave me a card signed by everybody, a huge bouquet of flowers, and a birthday cake, whilst the entire crowd sang Happy Birthday. I was very, very close to crying. What wonderful friends I have. I am such a lucky woman.

After that it was off to the Late Night Bar of Evil for the usual debauchery. Everybody sang Happy Birthday to me there, too -- well, they sang along with Today Is Your Birthday, with the fabulous addition of sparklers. Very, very cool. Plus, I love sparklers. (I may have mentioned that before-- usually at the LNBOE we do sparklers to Hey Jude or, more recently, Robbie Williams, which is not as good.)

And then we were being kicked out of the bar and it was time to go home, where my magically romantic husband . . .

went off to play backgammon online. Again.

Oh well. You can't win them all, I suppose.