Had a lovely night tonight out with Eloise and Katie and Jane. We went to Freuds in SOHO for really cheap cocktails, then to one of those amazing Indian Restaurants where they give you a hot face towel after your meal.
I am turning 30 and not only have I not dyed my hair (my body has given me grey hairs as a 30th birthday present), and I haven't been able to decide on anywhere that is neither pretentious nor naff (I think the word naff is naff but I think it serves its purpose here) for my party.
On the upside, after a great girls night I am no longer wondering how many times a week Julian and I "should" be having sex, and I am almost certainly getting some kind of dermal filler to soften the birthday blow.
I am getting pretty sick of making list after list at work - lists have their place, but I prefer fingers being removed from arses any day (eww). And I really cannot tolerate people criticising my written grammar. I am an intellectual snob when it comes to such matters, and I am tempted to reel off my reading list for the last month. It always bring to mind the painful memory of one of my past supervisors asking me to "announciate" my words properly. Makes my skin crawl. Gives me "Literary Rage".
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