I had a day's holiday yesterday. August 17th. My birthday. Please don't ask which one. Suffice to say a telegram from the Queen wouldn't have been too much of a surprise*.
There were cards, flowers, chocolates, Mad Men DVDs and this fabulous vegetarian recipe book.
We decided to have a celebratory lunch in Harrogate, down the road (the A1, that is) in North Yorkshire. Opting for tapas yet again, we were presented with a rather strange mix of Spanish, Italian and Greek dishes this time.
I managed to fit in a bit of shopping afterwards (Harrogate does have some lovely shops), putting some of the birthday money from Aunty M and my father in law to immediate use to buy black linen trousers, ballet flats and a striped top. (I'm clearly aiming for that Just Stepped Off The Yacht look).
Waterstones provided a couple more novels to add to the ever increasing To Be Read pile.
I popped into this shop for something to finish a little knitting project I might tell you about another time.
Then it was home for the teeniest birthday cake ever ("Well you said not to bother with a cake") and an evening in front of the telly with a box of chocolate gingers.
Oh, come on, you know how it is after you've eaten one or two.............
* Postscript: I'm not old enough for a telegram from HM. I'm just so not liking the number I've reached.