The Birthday Blog

It was my birthday last week. Thirty-fucking-five. How on earth did this happen? I can no longer say I am in my early thirties as I creep closer to the big 4-0. Bum.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. The last few birthdays have coincided with my evening class and gym shifts so I wasn’t really able to enjoy it or do much. This year the celebrations started on Wednesday evening and were drawn out until Monday.

Wednesday started with an innocent coffee catch up (plus a lovely lemon cupcake) which over ran into a glass of red at La Tasca and then segued into meeting the delightful Lady G at the local pub without the vital evening meal window. But that was okay as I snagged a roast potato somewhere around 11.30 pm and then ate some soup in my kitchen just before midnight. I drank a few nice red wines and smoked about a million horrid Spanish cigarettes whilst Lady G merrily smashed up her cider glass. My present from Lady G was mint. She had tracked down a copy of this for me:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/This-Return-Cult-Fiction-Various/dp/B000026LYZ/ref=sr_1_1?s=music&ie=UTF8&qid=1319634489&sr=1-1

which I used to own on a cassette many moons ago. So happy to have it back in my life for all its’ cheesiness!

The actual birthday (Thursday) involved a personal training session (I know!), Nandos (ill-advised fresh pineapple ring in my wrap), haircut number one, cup of tea catch up with fellow birthday girl and omelette and home made twice cooked chips washed down with my favourite pink wine. I also got some presents and cards too! Yay.

Friday involved an afternoon in Reading to pick my birthday gifts from the man. Say hello new Paul’s Boutique handbag, another MAC lipstick and a nice bird print frock. We then had some weak cocktails at the Slug & Lettuce followed by a disappointing meal at Old Orleans whereupon they had literally run out of everything and tried to rinse me for extra jalapenos. Bastards. Really should’ve cut our losses and gone elsewhere.

Saturday was the day of the big birthday bash. So it was necessary to go and procure Indian snacks, hummus (no gathering is complete without it?), olives, pitta bread, falafels etc and to make 40 vodka and lime jelly shots. I also had haircut number two. I know, two haircuts in two days. This must be the sort of stuff only WAGs and the cast members of TOWIE do all the time. Totes living the dream eh? My new haircut was so, so fabulous that I almost vetoed my choice of birthday party themes which was: Wigs, hats and glasses. I had a trampy and very tangled blonde wig and my friends did not let me down with the assortment of props they came armed with. I’d have to say other than the slurping of 40 vodka jelly shots and the wig swapping this was a fairly tame party by my standards. Even with the amount of Kronenbourg thrown in. No-one was sick. No-one got off with anyone else. No-one fell asleep. No-one threw a hissy fit over a missing bottle of tequila. No-one left a plum on the stairs. Which was a shame as all of the above happened last year…honestly.

On Monday I was treated to an altogether different type of party as my young niece and nephew are in town to visit my parents. My niece donned a tiara and made me some very fine party decorations. We had pizzas and salads and the niece and nephew had decorated me a very splendid and garish pink/lilac birthday cake. Of course they had to help me blow out the candles. Fireworks were supposed to be a feature but the weather proved too inclement. After dinner there was of course Pass the Parcel. But even though the music stopped on me and I won the prize I was forced to give up my gifts to my niece and nephew – what a swizz! The evening was topped off with a recorder recital by my niece. Ahhh such a beautiful sounding instrument.

All in all a very good birthday indeed. I guess I have to take everything 35 has to throw at me.

On beauty...

At lunch the other day my colleagues were extolling the virtues of teeth whitening and IPL (which isn’t invisible pantyline but some horrendous sounding permanent hair removal wizardry – who knew?). I sat there, mute, torn between thinking ‘what a load of old bunkum’ and conversely ‘I just couldn’t spend that on myself!’

So my current expenditure on beauty…

I spend £15 a month on waxing, which doesn’t take place in a swanky salon but in someone’s kitchen. Relax, she is a qualified beautician! She just works from home these days. At least that’s what she told me.

I have my hair done about 5 times a year. A cut and colour for £30 a time. With a free coffee thrown in and varying amounts of gossip and scandal from my hairdresser. Which is part of the fun. She’ll also keep up with the wayward fringe in between cuts for nowt.

And that’s it…And so I got to thinking…

Is it because I think it’s vacuous and beneath me?

Or, is it because I think I’m the antithesis of L’Oreal’s famous ‘Because I’m Worth It’ slogan…?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m no slob. I just think I’ve got better uses of my time, energy and money. I wear make up most days (sometimes not at the weekend if I am not doing much…which I love). I wash, dry and straighten my hair nearly every day. I paint and manicure my nails every week. And then take it off before its chipped and grotty looking. (Ladies: if you’re sporting half a nail’s worth of varnish please, I beg of you, purchase some remover and take the damn stuff off! Only takes a moment! Looks awful). My toenails are always varnished, even in the winter. I always take my make up off before bed. Always! Even if I am several sheets to the wind; falling up stairs, ramming chocolate out of the fridge at 3am, unable to get my keys in the lock I always take it off.

Maybe it’s the way I was brought up. My Mum was always well presented and she too always wore make up but I must’ve inherited the art of applying it swiftly and just moving on with what the rest of the day has to offer. Haircuts were taken at home in the lounge, with Corrie on in the background and cost less than a fiver. I don’t think my Mum had really experienced the glamour of a real salon until she was in her fifties. When I say glamour, I mean the pile of old magazines, the banging techno music, the luxury of having to tip your head backwards over a bloody uncomfortable sink whilst someone showers your face and clothes in ice cold/scalding hot water whilst you assure them ‘yes the water is fine’ and not an episode of Corrie in sight…

Nothing fills me with horror more than the idea of a spa break. Ugh…no thanks. If I wanted to laze around eating my dinner in a dressing gown then I would’ve stayed unemployed.

Occasionally people have got me a voucher to have some sort of treatment as a present. Thanks guys! You’re hilarious! I’ve had a ‘relaxing’ body wrap in a posh place in Regent St. Call me old fashioned but nothing particularly relaxing about being naked and covered in some sort of nasty plaster of Paris type stuff then left trussed up like a Xmas turkey in foil. I’ve had a hot stone massage. May as well of covered me in Mazola and chucked handfuls of gravel at me.

Not that I’m ungrateful of course…

I did splash out to have my make up done for my wedding and a spray tan! But with hindsight I looked like a drag queen… but I do love make up! Especially when I can treat myself to something from MAC or Benefit. Mmm lovely MAC make up in its’ lovely packaging. I love the displays of MAC lipsticks at the airport. Oooh Benefit! What a treat! I also own about 50 bottles of Nails Inc nail varnishes. They’re the best. I splashed out on some Touche Éclat once, but didn’t buy again. I didn’t get the fuss. I love Clarins Beauty Flash Balm (especially good when you’re hungover) but eek out my tube, reserving for special occasions only (translates as vicious hangovers). I also still use old faithfuls like Rimmel, Max Factor and good old Boots No17. I had an Avon lady until recently too.

I’ve never fallen for the ‘buy this lipstick which costs £50 and it will radically overhaul your life forever’ or ‘you must buy our foundation because it costs £75 which instantly makes you a better person’. Occasionally I see a product advertised on TV or in a magazine and track it down, vowing to treat myself. Then I see the pricetag and back away telling myself I don’t really need it that much…? I’ve been using Oil of Olay since I was 18…when it was still Ulay! It seems to be working…at the moment… and then if I suddenly start looking my age (or older!) maybe I’ll sign up to that miracle cream endorsed by an air-brushed celebrity with made up scientific claims, yeah?

I don’t think I’m any less of a woman because I don’t indulge in impossible to keep up with, strenuous beauty routines. (Warning here comes the feminist bit: ) the more women feel that they have to indulge in this ridiculous charade that makes men think women come as sponsored by Nuts magazine all big hair, fake tans, huge eyelashes and pneumatic boobs then they’re just perpetuating tyrannical beauty routines for the generations to come. Real women do have body hair (shocking I know) and don’t have orange skin. They might have a quirky gap in their (not neon white) teeth, pale and interesting skin or wild crazy curly hair that doesn’t need to be tamed with straighteners. We’re all different, so why are we all striving for the same, uniform look? As that song went ‘If everybody looked the same, we’d get tired of looking at each other’ – oui?