Things I have bought myself for my 40th birthday....so far

I have discovered that one of the chief pleasures of not having a significant other (detest that phrase, husband, boyfriend, bedwarmer, snuggle bunny, wine bottle opener what ever you prefer) is that there is absolutely no guilt in buying yourself birthday presents. I never thought to buy myself presents when the husbands were around. Not to say that either of the husbands was bad at presents. Its just when you buy your own you get exactly what you want.

Anyway, moving on to the list:

1. Two holidays, one after the other. Cheesy tacky caravan (the chief pleasure of which is the "clubhouse" where all food comes in a basket and the entertainment consists of a man in a giant chicken costume - best enjoyed with several large glasses of pinot grigio and a healthy dose of irony) followed by slightly more refined lighthouse weekend (will post some pictures for Polly)


2. Satnav in order to get to these places without having to rely on map reading by 12 year old.


3. Dog -theoretically for children but all the pester power in the world would not stand a chance if I wasn't secretly fulfilling my lifetime ambition to own a dog.


4. Ticket to Copenhagen to partake in the madness/creative frenzy that is Blogcamp. Could be the only chance I have in my life to learn belly dancing and knitting in one weekend whilst eating/slurping a gin and tonic sorbet.


5. Tattoo. Dragonfly on hip. I am very pleased with it especially since it meant I got to wrap myself in clingfilm - something I have always wanted to do although not necessarily whilst youngest daughter watched me with a look of mild surprise on her face.

It's still a couple of weeks away so doubt there will be more excuses for presents to me....me....me

Sure can pick 'em

The husbands are both lovely. Of course not both are current - that would be WRONG! Number one (defintely ex, father of eldest) rang me up at work yesterday. He had finished reading the book I bought him for his birthday whilst standing in a queue at a coffee shop at the park. He told me he had tears in his eyes. I told him to shut up or I would start crying at work. (The Gargole by Andrew Davidson, a wildly imaginative story of redemptive love, one of my favourite books so far this year).

Number two (technically current, father of youngest and also known as the Prince of Darkness) tells me that he has a present for me when I drop youngest off at his house for the weekend. It involves a short drive and me not asking questions. We arrive at a playing field and then after a short walk to the most beautiful wood, hidden from view, filled with a sea of bluebells pierced by shafts of late evening sunlight. What a gift. I did start crying.