Spring has sprung, the grass is riz. I wonder where dem birdies is. The little bird is on the wing. No! The little wing is on the bird.
I think it is most fortuitous that just as the flowers start blooming, and the days start getting longer and milder, and the birds start singing their little hearts out, and Spring really starts Springing, my parents decided to spawn a child - me! Yes, as I am faced with turning a full quarter of a century my plans for the festivities are formulating.
First up, no birthday should go unmarked without a truly hearty breakfast to set one up for all the revelries. So a booking has been made at the bastion of English dining, T
he Wolseley, where I intend to work my way through no less that a pot of tea, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, a rack of toast, a bowl of porridge, a grilled kipper or four, several rounds of poached eggs and various assorted patisseries.
Next on the agenda, naturally, is the party to which I have turned to
La Clique - a burlesque-style cabaret show. La Clique promises contortionists, fire eaters, magic turns and, I suspect, the odd nipple tassel. Other possible party venues included Fabric as the go-to place for 'larging it' or even an home-spun house party themed on 'The Last Hurrah' - the former celebrating the fact that we're still young, the latter saying 'bon voyage' to our mis-spent youths. I think La Clique will feel far less terminal all round.
And what birthday is complete without a little treat to oneself? Accordingly, I will be jetting off for a weekend in Milan and where I will be scoffing risotto, gazing at art, snaffling up designer handbags, and generally having a rather 'bravissimo' time of it.
Who doesn't love Spring?
(Last photo from www.thesartorialist.com)
