My 11th birthday was probably my favourite. Mainly because of the shoes I wore. White patent leather snakeskin loafers from Shoe Express to go with my lilac Tammy Girl outfit, I thought I looked the absolute bee’s knees. (I didn’t.)
Anyway, the main reason it was so good was that I laughed like an absolute drain for the whole evening. My birthdays in my twenties have not been as LOL-a-minute, mainly due to STINKY BOYS being MEAN. But turning 27 has been lots of fun.
Day off work on my actual birthday with sausages and cotton buds as pressies, and then a weekend consisting of Light Night, a shopping trip for some questionable trousers, savoury cupcakes, an immense night out (from what I can remember), The Great Gatsby and an absolutely fit burger in Hanover Street Social. I’ve had an absolute ball. Thanks for the good wishes, the gifts, the laughs and the vast quantities of food and drink.
My beautiful friends. Sorry about my dodgy fringe (due to being pure sweaty) and my flesh-flashing.
Outstanding burger. Top marks.
The Anglican cathedral on Light Night. Stunning.
Post-night out pizza, complete with threatening message to the rest of the Crillys.
My wonderful friends.
I salute y’all.
As anyone who knows me will surely attest, I am fiercely proud of my beautiful hometown of Liverpool. It has so much to offer. People come to university here and never leave, or visit and rave about how friendly Liverpudlians are. Woe betide anyone who makes a “robbing Scouser” joke within earshot of moi though. I will not be happy. Also, statistics show that, actually, things get stolen in cities other than Liverpool, by people other than Scousers. So there.
My birthday weekend started on Friday with a fine example of how glorious Liverpool is. Light Night consisted of all of the city’s museums, galleries and heritage sites opening late into the night with a variety of events on. I went with my friends Jane and Erin and took in the reopened Central Library, a Rankin exhibition at the Walker Art Gallery, a gospel choir in St George’s Hall and a candle-lit labyrinth in the stunning Anglican Cathedral, all within the space of about three hours. It was brilliant to see Liverpool’s many beautiful buildings full to the brim of people of all ages, with Erin remarking that there was a real festival vibe to proceedings as we walked from one end of the city centre to the other.
Here are some of my favourite photos from the night.
The lobby of the refurbished Central Library.
Gospel choir in St George’s Hall
The stunning Anglican cathedral.
Candle-lit labryrinth, Anglican cathedral
Inside the cathedral. Beautiful.
And all completely free. I’ll definitely be attending the next one.
There’s more to Liverpool than football and stag and hen dos. If you haven’t before, then visit. NOW.
No debauchery this weekend, tragically. (That’s next weekend. My birthday weekend, since you’re asking. I’d like a sloth and loads of Prosecco and a Marc Jacobs watch please. Thanks ever so much!)
On Sunday I’m heading to Goodison to bid farewell to David Moyes. Sob. Needless to say, I am unable to blog about this issue due to being completely heartbroken.
Tomorrow, though, promises to be far less traumatic. I am planning to JOIN A CHOIR. Yes. I am that cool. I was in a choir in school with my fabulous friends and absolutely loved it, even though our teacher made us sing crap songs in Latin and “No Matter What” in a key so high that only dogs could hear it. My family and I think we are the Von Trapps and love a good harmony, even when we’re only singing Happy Birthday. One of my favourite singers is Laura Marling and, in a similar vein to Beyoncé’s alter ego Sasha Fierce, I call myself Laura Snarling and like to belt out a bit of Devil’s Spoke while doing the dishes. (I wish that was a lie, but it isn’t. Help me.)
I miss being in a choir though. Our Helen – who will be THRILLED to be mentioned in one of my blog posts – who can actually sing, got an email about a free taster session with a Liverpool choir and asked if I wanted to go with her as I’d been moaning about wanting to join one for months.
The only cloud on the horizon is that I have a tendency to lose the plot a bit if I am no good at something (see upcoming post about, of all things, pitch and putt, for evidence of this) and so if I actually end up joining said choir without having a hissy fit about singing badly then it will be an early (late?) Christmas miracle. Helen’s already warned me about this though – I quote directly here – “If you have a mental breakdown I’ll leave you in the street.”
I’ll obviously blog about the outcome even if I am abandoned, wailing, in Liverpool city centre.