I don't think I will ever grow out of that feeling of waking up in the morning on your birthday (and Christmas for that matter) with butterflies in your stomach. And you lie there, listening for subtle sounds from the kitchen where someone is preparing your breakfast in bed and is just about to walk in with a tray singing happy birthday... But then you realise you don't live with your mum anymore and your passed-out corpse of a boyfriend is lying next to you snoring :')
This year I might not have been woken up with breakfast in bed, but Lloyd surprised me with an all Swedish breakfast with stuff he'd secretly bought from a Scandinavian shop here in London called Stockholm. We had meatballs, proper cheese, beetroot salad, Swedish bread and pickled gherkin. YUM. He's aware of my love for breakfast.
In the evening we headed to a pub in Twickenham called The Prince Blucher were there was food, prosecco and cake. The cake.. Let's talk about the cake. This is why Lloyd is the perfect guy for me:
A Big Mac cake. I mean it wasn't made out of meat (WHEN is McDonalds going to admit that there is 0% meat in their burgers?) etc, it was actually a cake. Also I'm not sure what signals this cake sends out about me as a person...
After that followed cafe patron (in plural), litres of wine, dancing on the table with a lamp on my head, finished off with some twerking, and then we headed to our flat to continue the dancing. One of the best birthdays I've had in years, thank you everyone for being there!! XX
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