Happy 40th Birthday to Me!

That's it. Life as I know it is over. Today is my 40th birthday (yeh, the big Four-Oh), and I need to resign myself that the 'just woken up face' of my 30s, is now the 'all day long face' of my 40s. It's a harsh reality, but things just don't bounce back like they once did.

As if that wasn't bad enough, today I realised that I am a decade too old for a Club 18-30 holiday, and a decade too young for a Saga holiday. Man alive, I am in total limbo here.

So what is a girl supposed to do during a mid-life crisis? Obviously I wanted to get it right, so I googled it, but the results spewed forth a plethora of depressing psychology crap, so I decided to invent my own method; I would develop a penchant for translating comedy phrases into Latin for my reader's amusement. Here goes:

Let's run it up the flagpole and see if anybody salutes it!: Id in summum longurium quasi vexillum tollamus ut videamus utrum quis id salutet, necne!

Yes, I feel much better now.

"So, enough of the Latin crap," I hear you cry, "what did you get up to on your birthday?"

Actually, my birthday so far has been pretty bloody cool in a low-key way. It started at 8.30am this morning when Steve and Izzy came to pick me up so that we could all go to Izzy's Harvest Festival together. I don't know if other countries celebrate this, but it is basically a church service organised by the school, to thank God for a year of successful harvests.

Now stop it! I can almost hear you raising your eyebrows at the thought of me in a church doing God stuff. Ok, maybe it's not exactly my numero uno choice of hang-out, but there are two good reasons why I like going: Firstly, it raises funds for good causes (in this case the Pakistani flood appeal), and secondly, the pride I see on Izzy's face when she sings her hymns and we applaud at the end.

Pic.No.1. Izzy in the church waiting to sing her hymns

It was cool. And not only that, I learned something new during the Vicar's sermon; did you know that there is no word for 'thank you' in Africa? So if you go there on holiday, don't go round calling everyone you meet a rude bastard, because it isn't their fault. [Note to reader: Just to keep things above board, I must stress that the Vicar did not say that last sentence. I added it myself to be helpful.]

Once the church service was over, we dropped Izzy back at school, and Steve had arranged to take me for a birthday lunch. We were en-route in the car, when I asked; "where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise," he said, "but I can say that it's in Oxford city centre."

"If it's McDonalds, I will beat you with a large branch from my walnut tree," I said, as we arrived in Oxford and parked up the car.

Steve just laughed at me as we strolled up George Street. Then he stopped and opened the door to a ...... Pizza Hut restaurant!

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" I asked him, "Do I look like a Pizza Hut kind of a girl?"

"Nah, more of a 99p Whopper kind of a girl," Steve said, doubling over laughing at his own crap gag. Once he had recovered sufficiently to talk, he added, "I am only joking about eating in Pizza Hut."

"Thank god for that," I said, once more following Steve up George Street.

Two minutes later, Steve stopped again and motioned to a restaurant: "That's where we are going," he said.

"Oh yes! You've done good!" I exclaimed, taking in the Jamie Oliver restaurant in front of me. I hadn't eaten there before and I had wanted to for ages. Woo hoo!

Pic.No.2. Steve standing outside the Jamie Oliver restaurant (called Jamie's Italian) in Oxford

Pic.No.3. The view out of the front window inside Jamie's Italian. Those dead things hanging up are animal flanks. Weird.

Pic.No.4. Dear Mr Oliver, my porcini and chestnut mushroom risotto with lemon and parmesan was really quite fine. I am starting to feel good about being 40

Pic.No.5 Steve's red mullet was to die for. Except that it was served with the head and tail on. Eating something that is looking at you is just wrong

One thing that particularly stood out about the Jamie Oliver restaurant was the service. It was impeccable. The barman knew everything about the drinks he was serving in great detail, and the waiter was able to describe exactly how each dish was cooked and what the ingredients were. Impressive stuff. Would I go there again? Blooming right I would, especially as the prices were very reasonable (even though I didn't pay - Steve treated me. Oooh, I could get used to that!).

Once lunch was over, we picked up Izzy from school and went for a long sunshiney stroll over the fields behind Forest Hill. It was all rather relaxing except for the bit where Naughty George decided to charge at some horses, barking ferociously. What a git. The size of his opponent never seems to deter Naughty George from picking a fight.

Pic.No.6. Moi, Izzy and Naughty George walking through Forest Hill village

So all in all, so far it has been rather a nice birthday, and I suspect, the calm before the storm. I have a couple of friends from the village coming for a few drinks this evening..... should be fun! I shall report back later.

P.S. Before I go, here is one last latin phrase that you can use to impress your colleagues: I can't hear you. I have a banana in my ear: Te audire non possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure.