There's not much to celebrate about being 39, but yesterday was such a glorious, golden day that it made an excellent work-avoidance/cake-and-champagne-in-the-sunshine excuse
Today it's all very different.
The sun has vanished and I am sitting despondently in front of my keyboard guzzling anti-ageing multivitamins, swigging water (to promote youthful, dewy complexion and shift hangover) and googling 'industrial-strength miracle wrinkle cream'. Am trying very hard to ignore the siren call of the Double Decker (birthday present from Daughter #2) hidden behind the books on the shelf as it is strictly not in accordance with my new, grown-up regime of vitality-boosting, antioxidant-rich raw foods.
Only 364 days to go until I'm 40.