Turning 40

Yesterday I turned 39.  I know.  I've done the sums.  Next year I will be 40.

My cake.  

Featuring one candle.  

It was a little cake.  

Couldn't jam 35 candles onto that teeny thing.

And yes, I said 35.  Not 39.  

Because the art of successfully conning people about your age 

relies heavily on confusing those people at every opportunity.

I received all sorts of texts, emails and Facebook messages from my lovely family and friends yesterday, wishing me a happy birthday.  There were lots of texts along the lines of: "Happy Birthday! I can't believe you're going to be 40 next year! " with a few of these: "Is it your 40th next year, cos you don't look a day over 35" thrown in for good measure (did I mention I have the loveliest friends ever?  Cos I totally do.  They're so lovely, they'll lie to me about me!)

And then there was this:  A pic of Jamie Oliver (with a couple of very good looking randoms) sent to me from a mate of my brothers.  Apparently Jamie is wishing me a happy birthday. Nice. Very thoughtful.  And a lovely surprise.

On a side note, I think I might photoshop my head onto the blonde birds body so that 

a) I'll be in a photo with Jamie Oliver 

and b) I'll have finally reached my goal weight.  

Yes, that sounds much easier than slogging it out at the gym for 2 hours...  

every. single. day.

xox