die another day

the following may well be read as grossly smug. read it at your peril if you're not happy with that, but don't say I didn't warn you.

a couple of times in the last twenty-eight years i've had a moment of clarity where everything seems to fit in place, where all that is happening to me makes sense. the first one perhaps shortly after birth, realising why i had been curled up in a comfy annex that more recently had been feeling like it needed some sort of extension. perhaps a conservatory. i have a morbid recollection that as i rolled down a road in islington at 50mph after dropping my bike i may have partly accepted the inevitability of the event as a brutal poetic justice for someone who was basically being an idiot. there have most certainly been others, most likely involving my long time confident: the troubadour, a certain evening in a tiny village with tisch, and standing on a high up volcanic rock as the sun set over the great white lake in the middle of nowhere, mongolia.

i can't help but have a spring in my step as i meander my way to work this morning; after a spectacular 10 days centred by my birthday, a fine selection of happenings enhancing my 28th like dolby digital.

the order went something like this:
a lovely evening with the lord and lady monkhouse: the 'rents who made it all possible. indian food and fine conversation, what more is needed?

being rescued from a disappointing evening with the new work mates by whackwit, and having a much more pleasant evening with him, a pint of finest and a handmade burger.

a day kicking terrorist ass with the troubadour, followed by a genius party for the duchess involving high spirits, high notes and an array of highly attractive young ladies. more of one of those later.

a very pleasant date with a girl who could be mistaken for natalie portman.

pub quiz with some of my nearest and dearest, accompanied by bangers and mash - the choice of a new generationX. we didn't win but at least i now know what piacrete is.

to the theatre with some more nearest and dearest to see a show that is just about the closest to manly that a dance show could get; about a family of kung-fu stars who spend all their life training under their kung-fu master grandfather. the nearest it gets to a story is when 2 burglars try to break in to the house and they end up having a half-hour martial arts fight. utter genius.

then the troubadour and i whacked out a very tasty odd cast within only a few minutes.

the biggest disappointment was when i found out my wonderful friend xany was suddenly unable to come to my birthday party, but i managed to swap an evening with her for an evening with the - frankly delightful - miss budd; a very easy-on-the-eye, pint-sized blonde with a filthy sense of humour and turquoise eyes you could swim in. life dealt me lemons, i made long island ice tea.

a very enthusiastic lie-in on saturday was quickly followed by ale & pie, shopping with The Budd, more drinks with nearest and dearest which involved (quite thrillingly and against all odds) xany appearing from nowhere. battles had been fought and variables had been conquered and there she was in the pub we had chosen but minutes before. i still don't quite understand how it happened, but will happily remain in the dark, marveling only at the way the world works sometimes.

more food, mexi-CAN. by this time, my stomach was making some noises of complaint and one or two worrying gestures. nothing a good cocktail couldn't fix, mind.

then onto shunt, my favourite of all london clubs; possibly the only one i actually like: a selection of darkened tunnels weave their way under london bridge. a series of manmade caverns and hidey-holes and pinball machines, where between 20 and 30 wonderful people joined me to share in the wonder of 28 years of jonathan. so many thanks to all who came, i spent the evening with the funniest men and the most beautiful women in all of christendom.

and that's just an overview. how could i pick a favourite bit?

perhaps the x-box 360 i bought myself as a birthday present.
perhaps the dedication of The Fox, who queued for 2 hours to get into my party after being stuck on a tube, only to be mildly concussed by a hurtling drum stick soon after she got in. thank you jenny.
perhaps the crazy chain of events that suddenly leapt in our favour and xany magically appearing from the depths of the midlands.
perhaps the spectacular time i spent with The Budd, who by now must be aware of my growing affection and doesn't seem to mind responding to my poor-witted (and sometimes rude) text messages, and with whom i share a love of geese and trickle vents.

i literally cannot find fault with the last 288 hours. if you have seen me or sent me a message in that period you have contributed to the spring in my step and the whistle in my suit. or something. it has been a feast of great joy and for a while i forgot how close i am to turning 30.

fuck.