My birthday is a few days before Christmas and as a result it is usually an almighty dud. It is either spent in a last-minute frenzy of end-of-year/end-of-school/end-of-work/pre-Christmas nonsense or, if we've headed off on helliday early, it is often spent in a road-side layby wiping puke off a child and the back seat of the car.
I'm a big girl and I can handle it. Given that my partner is still recovering from his health dramas I had fully expected that my birthday this year would be another complete non-event. Never mind. My dream birthday would be something like this.
Get lent the use of a beautiful house in the bush in a gorgeous part of the world that I'd never been to before.
Wake there to coffee in bed and delivery of fabulous presents.
Be driven around by my sister to scenic spots and galleries. Head back to the house for a delicious lunch followed by a stroll in the bush
to spot lizards,
butterflies, kangaroos, dozens of birds (including two types of black cockatoos) and various interesting insects.
Head indoors to consult "The Book" to try to identify the creatures we've just seen then have a chapter of a new novel and a nana-nap.
Head to the local icecreamery for an afternoon-tea treat from my son.
Have a stroll on the beach then back to the house for my partner's fancypants home-cooked dinner of local produce accompanied by Margaret River wine. Watch a stupid sitcom and laugh myself silly with my children then head off to bed for another chapter of the new book.
And that is exactly how my (fabulous) birthday went this year. We stayed in the bush near Dunsborough and explored there and Yallingup and Margaret River. Sometimes I just love being wrong.