read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

May 24, 2007
On my eighth birthday I had one of those sixties working-class parties involving a few friends and lots of jelly and ice cream. I recall being petulant about a duplicate present (ungrateful little sod). On my eighteenth I remember being stressed about A-levels but giving my recently discovered love of booze free rein. Twenty-eight is hazy. Id been celibate for almost four years and was as fit as a motherfucker. Thirty-eight: even hazier. Six months before my life fell apart.

Forty-eight: the tasting menu at Bouley. Its been a long ride ridden much too fast. Happy birthday to me.