In which I am a year older

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My last weekend as a 30 year old: sunshine and blue, blue skies; eating the most delicious burger while watching others take part in Bikefest; G&Ts sipped outside, dangling feet over the harbour edge; reading magazines in the garden; a red and black themed hen do; trilby hats and new denim shorts.

My first weekend as a 31 year old: a short plane ride to a tiny airport; catching up with the best of friends; Smithwicks and red wine in pubs; lilting accents; eating a full Irish breakfast while gazing at a stunning lake view; a miniature castle by the water; more rhododendrons than I’ve ever seen before; live music and Fisherman’s pie.

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An excellent start to my 32nd year.

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