Twenty Two

This year, I kind of hit the jackpot. Not only do I work for a company that gives their employees their birthday off, free of charge (!!!!), but thanks to 2016 being a leap year, the anniversary of my birth fell on a Friday. And you know what that means? LONG WEEKEND. If I could moon walk, I'd be moon walking right now.

Having only been back in the office for two weeks, waking up without an alarm and with nowhere to be wasn't quite as cleansing to the soul as it would've been, had I not butchered myself nine weeks previously. As with every other year I can recall, my bedroom door was flung open at about half six in the morning by my overenthusiastic mother grinning and singing "Happy birthday to someoneeeeeeeee" like it was the most hilarious joke she's ever pulled. Every. single. year.

I don't know why I always choose to open cards and presents first thing in the morning, I'm so delirious and bleary-eyed that I can barely read what anyone's written. I just assume it says 'Happy Birthday' in there somewhere and follow through with an "aww, they're so sweet". Usually I do a second sweep a little later in the day to fully grasp what's been written.

My mum perched on the end of my bed, as she does, still grinning to herself and repeating "open this one, open this one!" at an excitement level I've not witnessed since that John Lewis Christmas advert. Obviously, when I did open it, I died and went to heaven. In my hands I held a Marwell Zoo adoption pack for none other than their ENTIRE FLAMBOYANCE OF FLAMINGOS SOMEONE HOLD ME. They could've also bought me Zac Efron and I wouldn't have even noticed, that was where my emotions were at.

I managed to compose myself enough to share my gratitude and then snuggle back down in bed to work out what I would do with the whole day ahead of me. Naturally, I decided on shopping and spa-ing. After a pleasantly long soak in a bubble bath, where I (thank god) remembered to shave my legs, I headed out into the blisteringly warm and sunny day to play a game of 'How many times can I use "it's my birthday" as an excuse to buy myself things before I bankrupt myself'. Stops included: Anthropologie (naturally), L'Occitane (double naturally) and Hollister (because I've decided 22 will be the year of the plaid shirt).

After wolfing down some lunch, it was onto the BSpa at Brooklands Hotel; I always find it hilarious that I love going to the spa so much considering the huge problem I have with nudity. But after a small internal panic and a silent thank you to the lord that I remembered not to put on a pair of comfy-not-at-all-sexy undies that morning, I semi-relaxed enough to enjoy a fifty minute long Caudalie Fleur De Vigne Candle Massage. It was without a doubt the best full body massage I have ever had. I could've stayed there for days. Brooklands Hotel, you da one.

Feeling more relaxed than I think I ever have in my life (and smelling absolutely amazing), I headed home just in time to enjoy an Earl Grey tea (really embracing this whole 'old age' thing) and an arguably overambitious slice of caterpillar birthday cake. I consoled myself with the excuse that it's not a proper birthday until you feel sick from eating too much cake. #RealTalk.

That wasn't exactly helped by the huge Chinese feast we tucked into that evening, but it was my birthday so what was I going to do? Say no? Not likely. But I think my favourite part was waiting in the restaurant for our take out order to arrive and witnessing the "SURPRISE!" part of a surprise birthday meal take place. The temptation to grab one of the balloons and exclaim "Is all this for me!?" to a group of total strangers was almost too much. Instead my dad and I ate crackers and mentally wished my fellow birthday girl would stop crying. Pull yourself together, you're giving us all a bad name.

And then the complimentary bottle of wine arrived and suddenly everything was great again.
~ Eleanor xo