My Birthday

Today is my birthday. I have unaccountably reached the age of 69. I had always imagined I would succumb to drink or drugs before I had left my thirties, but didn't try hard enough with either of these.

The groceries never arrived last night, nor have I heard a word from Sainsburys. I spent about twenty minutes trying to get through to them last night to no avail. More positively, this morning I had an extravagant breakfast of toast and marmalade with Lapsang. I also opened the present which Romy had kindly left for me: as I had suspected, it turned out to be a fabulous stand for my Nespresso capsules. I have filled it and it is now ready to go, and looks very good indeed.

I have also received an excellent card from Michel, my newishly found brother, which is a great thrill. Oh, and a super bouquet has arrived from my sister Sharon in Devon. This is a gorgeous hand tied pink and white affair and is in pride of place in the sitting room window. So pretty.

Romy is probably going to Spain tonight. I am rather afraid to leave the house because if Romy's return flight does not arrive in time I will have to take the punters on holiday alone. If I break a leg meanwhile the whole thing will have to be cancelled at the last minute so I am being ultra careful since it is still rather icy outside. I may have to call upon Julian to fetch some cat food as I have nearly run out. Kooky will be most put out if I cannot provide for him. The Sainsbury lack of contact or delivery hasn't changed and they are impossible to get hold of, though I have sent an email. We shall see. Have managed to sort out my Christmas cards online though. I shall potter about and do a bit more washing later.