Birthdays and the commemoration of same have always been an oozing necrotic sore spot of my year. Birthdays have been things to dread and treat with fear and wariness; times when existential angst is at a high and depression descends in snarling rabid Rottweiler proportions. Even more so than Christmas, that particular day of note when the pressures of feeling I’ve not made the grade or where society decrees I’m “supposed” to be in life became too much and was generally passed in a haze of deep depression, denial and/or drugs and alcohol.

The past years (read: years avec Tuxedo) have featured fantastic birthdays; not merely his gifts, which have always been amazing and special, AND a complete surprise (a white gold/yellow gold articulated torc necklet one year; a mint green silk/gold lace Collette Dinnigan shift dress another). The presence (ugh, what a horrid pun) of Tuxedo, my constant best friend, companion, demon lover, faithful husband all in one has changed so many facets of my life.

Life is now so special; wondrous, fun, deeply interesting, colourful, full of sometimes overwhelmingly daily joys … Kaleidoscopic, in fact. (and yes, even with the ongoing health shite, constant physical agony and stresses; I wouldn’t swap my life as is, with Tuxedo, for a cure and no Tuxedo for anything).

2006 was always going to be a bastard; not ending in either a 5 or a 0, but the famous (infamous?) Lucy Jordan Year … In the words of Marianne Faithfull;

At the age of thirty-seven/she realised

she’d never drive/through Paris in a sports car

with the warm wind in her hair

… and dear old Lucy ends up swan diving off the top of a tall building. Thirty-seven being, by deduction, the year when those personal and societal pressures I spoke of above become all too much and one takes the fast route out. Very uplifting, no? Not for me; not ever and certainly not on my thirty-seventh birthday. THIS one, my friends, had to be the best ever.

To summarise the celebration of Jules’ thirty-seventh birthday (08 August 2006), therefore:


Hotel stay

Tuxedo booked a weekend in a posh hotel, from Friday lunch-time to Sunday lunch-time. Rydges Hotel on Hay Street, Perth is “our” hotel; we got engaged there and have celebrated a couple of other birthdays there besides.

We had the most luxurious, romantic and exceptional time.


Divine dinners; beautiful breakfasts; movies and other entertainment (*cough cough*); French champagne; and shopping all featured on the weekend’s agenda.

On Friday night we had dinner at Rydges’ in-house restaurant and bar, CBD – a terrific place for drinks and food as evidenced by the huge crowds any time of the week. The food was gorgeous; Tuxedo started with a Thai Pumpkin Soup and I had a Classic Caesar Salad – both were delish and while not complex menu items were perfectly cooked, balanced and presented – the so-called “easy” stuff is where many restaurants fail. With starters we had a glass each of Rosemount Sparkling – yum. At this point Tuxedo gave me my pressie – more on that later. For mains Tux had braised venison which was tender and not at all fibrous or gamey, and I had an excellent Bouillabaise – again deceptively simple, not dressed up, exactly as it should be and with very intense flavours. We drank a bottle of Coldstream Hills Pinot Noir and were far too stuffed for dessert.

Saturday morning we had breakfast with my family and it was one of the nicest family gatherings I’ve been to in ages – I don’t talk much about my family here and there are many reasons for that, but interactions tend to be rife with tension and negativity. So it was lovely to have such a pleasant, relaxed and fun time with my husband, my parents, eldest bro and his wife, their toddler and bump (SIL is pregnant with their second bub – Auntie Jules has another juvie to corrupt, whee).

Saturday afternoon was spent much as Friday afternoon; alternately wandering around town shopping, and engaged in most pure and virtuous pursuits back in our hotel room. Saturday evening we took in Pirates of the Caribbean and had room service, with a bottle of Moet Champagne, mmm mmm. Again, fantastic fun and very very special.

Sunday we checked out, after breakfasting at a lovely café on Kings Street (not the eponymous Kings Street Café, which I loathe, sorry) and a little more browsing and window-shopping.

Tuesday was my birth day proper, and we had dinner at our favourite – and very best in town – Italian restaurant, Osteria Dei Sapori in Nedlands. Tuxedo had: Vitello Tonnato; Char-Grilled Sirloin; and Chocolate Marscapone cake. I had: Prosciutto and Bocconcini Salad; Char Grilled Snapper; and Crème Brulee. All absolutely sublime and worthy of the oohs and aahs and orgasmic groans we made. Then just before dessert, the waiters brought out my crème brulee to the accompaniment of “Happy Birthday” on the sound system, with all the staff singing and clapping, and then the waiters gave me flowers! Now I must tell you, the song is standard for such occasions but NOT the presence of all the staff, and certainly not floral tributes and smooches from the waiters! So I was excessively spoiled.

And speaking of being excessively spoiled …


THE PRESENT (caps required)

Tuxedo had been teasing me for months about my present and considering he’d been planning and organising it since April I can quite understand! I really had no idea apart from the fact that it was in a jewellery-sized box. Hence it was all his own work and thoughtfulness when he surprised me with –

– a seriously spectacular yellow- and white-gold bezel set three-diamond ring!


I’ve drooled over this style of ring for about twenty-five years; the design and size and use of different golds is precisely what I would have bought for myself. Which as any female knows, is the ultimate definition of a successful gift. I was – and will continue to be – totally overcome, speechless in fact – and am constantly sneaking peaks at my right hand ring finger to admire the sparklies. DIVINE. And do I not have the best, most incredibly beautiful and thoughtful and generous husband in the known universe? And he’s magnificent in bed too (well, we make a pretty spectacular team, to be truthful). He’s all mine … and I have such a crush on him.

Best. Birthday. Ever. Thank you, my darling boy, for making the day/weekend so much blissful fun, and for sharing the rest of our days and your life with me. I love you.

(and a very very Happy Birthday to my dear matey Dave (over at – and congrats on the successful marriage, move back to Eire, new job and new house, all in a matter of weeks! Did you learn from my mistakes, or are you just a bloody lucky gey [sic] bastard? Mwahs.)

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