Last week I celebrated, quite extravagantly I should add, moving into a new decade. My 40s, to be precise. I don’t want to tempt fate, but… other than a small internal debate about whether to amend the ‘about me’ section of this site, which clearly refers to my age as 39, very little about this decade so far appears in any way problematic. In fact, a week into my 40s, it seems that they consist mainly of parties, presents, and cake.

In between the celebrations, I’ve also managed to squeeze in a minor operation, and a relatively major one, from which my main takeaway was, as ever, the fabulous standard of care I’ve received from every member of NHS staff I’ve had the pleasure to encounter. An added bonus being the discovery that my surgeon is, first and foremost, a plastic surgeon (invisible scars being his speciality). And an added takeaway being the Chinese (sweet and sour chicken with special fried rice) that evening.

I’ve acheived an all-time birthday record of seven cakes this year, of which I am understandably quite proud. I’ve entered my 40s with the hair at the sides of my head deciding to grow back considerably faster than the top, in a style not dissimilar to that of a monk. I’m also sporting unicorn nails, and am in possession of an extremely large helium horse-head balloon. I’ve been reminded, as if I needed reminding, of the amazing friends and family I’m lucky enough to have around me. 

I’ve decided against updating the age in my profile. With these nails, no one would believe me anyway.