It always genuinely surprises me when friends text me on my birthday. Or when I get birthday cards.

Always.

It’s nice to know people remember, but at the same time so embarassing because the scatter-brain that I am, I never remember theirs. Or even when I do, it slips my mind on the day itself to pick up my phone to type a message or give them a call.

I am a bad person.

But anyway, it went fine. The exam made it not brilliant, I caught a cold wearing inappropriate clothes for windy-sunny-then drizzling-then really windy-then rain somemore weather, but managed to haul my ass down to Notting Hill Gate for a housewarming party (and pretended that it was actually held in my honour).

Today I’ve done absolutely nothing apart from lie in bed and listen to the Beatles (Revolver), eat fish fingers and read the saturday papers. What a great way to spend a saturday - if only everyday were a Saturday, and if everyday were not a pre-exam-I’m-supposed-to-be-revising day.

So it’s nose back to the grindstone tomorrow. The sabbath is over, and hard graft shall once again resume in its never-endingness. yay.