That’s why I got on a plane headed for Paris earlier today, at the tail end of said cold. (Ok, this was planned well in advance, but let’s pretend this is medically sound advice). After a week of scarves, jumpers, golden milk and a laptop screen, I’ve somehow found myself in the Japanese part of Paris. It’s like I was meant to be here.
Leading up to my birthday, I used up a spa voucher and dragged my aching body in for some much needed tlc. What ensued was…I want to say hell, but the enjoyable kind? Basically, the lady went to town on my back and shoulders. I’ve never heard muscles make the kind of noise mine did. To give you an idea: find yourself a lot of bubble wrap, roll it up, and twist.
Two hours and an ache you’d associate with lifting heavy objects beyond your capacity, I hobbled out. I’d already planned to treat myself after the two months of show production, knowing that something would be knotted, but this surprised even the masseuse. Happy early birthday to me, part one.
Part two and three were due to be this side of Monday (birthday day), one of which has since been postponed, and the other starts…well, now. In theory, this was a well thought through celebration of said birthday in that it was low-key, spread out, with lovely people; in practice, poorly executed.
But I guess that’s the problem with November birthdays or, more specifically, end of November birthdays. Once it hits the 15th, people immediately think of the holidays, and every year the adverts, decorations, and dreadful music-choices come earlier and earlier. It makes celebration of anything non-Christmassy unavoidable.
Although… Given the annual avoidance, maybe this is my family’s tradition. The build up to my birthday is always a nightmare for would-be-gifters because I’m rarely interested in anything new, and then almost as soon as it’s over, it’s onto the next challenge for said gifters because there’s a mere month until Christmas arrives – bon sang! That and, in our household, Christmas and it’s decor doesn’t start until December actually fecking starts. At a push, maybe Advent – you know, that whole thing with the candles and the Sundays? I’m not even Catholic, and I can remember them.
Basically, it’s not this time of year without someone shouting “it’s not December yet!“