It’s been a funny old week. It started well: it was my birthday on Monday, and since it’s such a miserable time of year for a birthday I always try and celebrate it properly. I was lucky enough to have my mum down for the day so we went shopping and had lunch, then had dinner at Yauatcha which was really fabulous: dim sum, salt & pepper tofu and cocktails galore. Then my dad was also in town the next day so we had another dinner at Gail’s, one of my new favourites. And we’re going to Brighton next weekend which I’m really looking forward to.
Unfortunately I then fell ill with a yucky cold on Wednesday so I’ve been holed up at home for the last couple of days recovering. In fact I’m quite grateful to have managed to dodge Christmas, my actual birthday and Brighton without being ill, and it’s not too much of a hardship being tucked up at home with the kitties when it’s so cold out. I did get some fresh air with a quick walk around the beautiful deserted park yesterday, camera in tow. (It was caked in snow the day I was born 28 years ago, hence the title of this post.)