I didn’t really want to get up this morning. Not especially because it was my birthday and wanted a lie in, so much as I had nothing planned and didn’t really see the point.
The thing is, for the past few years, whenever I’ve made plans for my birthday, something as caused them to go wrong, and I’ve been left dissappointed.
For (what I think was) my seventeenth birthday, me and my friend tried to host a joint birthday part somewhere we were told was a great place for a birthday, even if you were underage. However, this turned out to be false, as the guys behind the bar changed their policy on being unsuspicious about identification. Can’t blame them really, I wouldn’t want to lose my job for serving underagers either.
Things began to pick up, as we emptied the venue and headed to our friends house nearby for a house party. The night turned out alright, until a later date when I would learn something about it that would taint the whole occassion.
My eighteenth was ‘so so’. The day was rather uneventful, as most of my longtime friends had become embroiled in a stupid squabble wherein one of their girlfriends had pretty much divided our sixth form group. It was petty, and as a result, although I was still on good terms with them, I didn’t really speak to them all that often anymore. As it would turn out, all of the (what I then deemed) ‘popular kids’ (although the label had become a tad outdated as in sixth form everyone associated with everyone) teamed up under one girls leadership to make me a makeshift card with a load of signatures on it. It made my day; whereas my friends had forgotten, people I only really talked to in passing had come through for me. And of course there was my friend Joel, who never forgets these sorts of occassions; and so that night, me, him and a bunch of other sixth formers went out on the town. It was messy, and although I did have fun, it was hard not to notice all the people I had invited who couldn’t/wouldn’t make it. Although in fairness, some of my (then) underage friends did make an appearance, even if they couldn’t come in the pubs.
Nineteen, I decided, I would tone down on the drinking. All I wanted to do was go to the cinema and then have a chinese with the faily. However, at this stage God decided to have a little joke at my expense:
What with my birthday being relatively close to Christmas, I had always wanted it to snow on my birthday. Year after year, I would be disappointed. And then on my nineteenth, it snowed. But then of course it snowed so much that me and my girlfriend of the time had to turn back from the cinema, only to find that my family had already cooked themselves some food, figuring that the chinese was now off the table since we had departed for the cinema.
So by twenty, I had learnt my lesson: Plan nothing, and then you can’t be disappointed when your plans inevitably failed. It was an alright day. Not especially exciting. I lounged in my room, and then watched Man of Steel with some friends in an evening. Unfortunately, one of my housemates friends showed up at this point, and although I do get on with him; in truth, he’s a bit of a twat, and didn’t stop pointing out all the flaws in a film.
One of the thing that annoys me the most is when people talk non-stop through a film. A humorous observation every half an hour is one thing, but when you exceed that to excessive levels, unless the group is watching it for the sole purpose of critiquing it, it sort of takes away from the movie watching experience.
But despite having learnt my lesson, I figured this year, being my twenty-first, I should once more attempt to do something. After all, this is pretty much the last big landmark birthday until the big five-oh. I considering going to London, but having a birthday right in the centre of exam period sort of limits your travelling possibilities. I considered going out for a meal, but frankly, I don’t realy know who I would go with. I finally settled on getting a tattoo, but I never got round to going to the parlour before hand to find out quotes and discuss ideas with the artist, so that was out the window.
So when I woke up this morning, it was with the same disappointment that had struck me every year previous. I’d even woken up too late to get in and out of the library before ten o’clock.
But refusing to just mope around all day as per, I’ve decided on a change of location. I’ve gone to the Cafe Nero on the corner of the Square in the city centre, with a coffee and a brownie, so I can people-watch and type to my hearts content. In the progress of which, Ive realized my ideal birthday would probably be found on a tropical island or beach or some such. I wouldn’t talk to anyone but the bartender, as I ordered drinks and cocktails and subathed the day away. I did that once when I was in Malia. That was probably the most enjoyable day I had there. Malia is a bit crap, after all.
But anyway, a man can dream. When I win the lottery, I’ll be all over that. But for now, this brownie is pretty fucking good. Here’s a song: