I recently tried a birthday cake from the in-store counter at Waitrose. The supermarket brand makes cakes to order, including for weddings, but never did I expect to find a lusciously moist chocolate and orange invention ready to buy from their bakery section.
Priced at £21, this sinfully delicious sponge and buttercream layer cake includes lashings of orange curd and rich chocolate buttercream under a heavenly marzipan and chocolate icing.
My birthday guests asked for seconds, so they were clearly as enamoured as I was!
Yup, it’s my birthday and I’ve finally reached the big 3-0. Thirty. Wow. I still feel 18. It only seems like yesterday when I was trying to pass my driving test and when I was getting mad cuz clubs kept asking me for ID and supermarkets refused to sell me alcohol. My, my how things change…
In all honesty, I don’t care about hitting 30. I actually feel quite excited about the coming decade. Unlike my twenties, this decade offers far more certainties; my thirties will be when I finally settle down, have kids (god willing), fulfil at least one of my career aspirations and actually decide exactly what it is I want out of life. Although I’m in no hurry to achieve any of these things for a few years yet, it’s clear that as a female, I have a biological clock that will start to falter by 40 and I’ve got no desire to be a single mum so I’ll have to think about giving my heart away to someone. Thankfully, my career is already on the rise and I feel far more focused and determined than I’ve ever been.
What I don’t like about reaching 30 is how other people react and respond to me. How many (unfunny) ‘you’re getting old’ jokes can one girl endure? Not many, believe me. And to the Greek relatives who keep telling me that they know a lovely Greek guy they want me to meet – please! I’m not a racehorse. You can’t just breed me with good stock and hope for the best. Give a girl a chance! I can find my own man believe it or not.
But what’s the solution to all of this? Well, I think I’ve cracked it… forget Oil Of Olay, Botox, facelifts and tummy tucks – the secret to eternal youth is simple: as of tomorrow, I’m wearing only ‘hoodies’ and trying to get myself an ASBO. Then I’ll go around proudly telling people that I’m 30, watching smugly as their faces tense with shock and they utter the beautiful words “But I thought you were still in your teens…”.