This is a question I've been thinking about for a while. Not to sound like a Scrooge but I've never really got on with birthdays. I think my dread of them started when I was about 11 and I stopped getting Lego and Barbies to play with and instead got ... bubble bath and Dream Phone Game. 11 was the worst birthday ever. That day I got more bath products ('smellies') than I knew what to do with - I could have opened my own mini spa) and after a few hours of playing Dream Phone I couldn't give a shit whether it was Paul, Todd or any of the other chumps who 'fancied' me (seriously, were the feminists all on annual leave when 'child's toy' came out...?).
I know my well-meaning relatives were probably struggling with what to get me, seeing as I was too old for Lego but too young for make-up, but seriously - there's only so many baths a girl can take ... I spent the whole day bored out of my mind and the evening celebrations at Deep Pan Pizza with some girls from school wasn't enough to lift my spirits. I know this makes me sound like the world's most ungrateful brat - and kind of ironic since I now write about beauty products for a living - but compared to the excitement and fun-filled days birthday once were for the first ten years of my life, they've been the biggest let down ever since.
Milestone birthdays are ten times worse - like my 16th birthday in a local Italian place. They'd just brought the cake in, my friends had sung a round of 'Happy Birthday', when a drunken, balding middle aged man looked through the window, saw the number 16 on the balloon and made shagging motions at us ...
18 wasn't much fun either - my friend and I ended up bunking off school, going to Tesco (the glamour!) and buying some dodgy-looking 'cayenne pepper shots' with my new found freedom. Then later that week I had a joint family 'do in a scout hut, with another 18 year old whose parents were friends of mine. Again, not the raucous affair I'd been hoping for.
But my 21st was the worst. It fell on a Friday - couldn't be more perfect right? Wrong. In my last year of uni, I'd had a massive falling out with my main social group and all of my other friends were busy studying for their finals. Hence it ended up just being me and one loyal housemate who probably felt incredibly sorry for me. And we went ... to the cinema. Rock n' roll lifestyle. (I seriously wish I hadn't given up studying French and had spent my third year abroad - I could have celebrated in Paris, dammit!)
Since then I've had a series of friends meeting up for a meal and a few drinks but haven't seen fit to push the boat out. I find birthdays fairly stressful in general. Worrying that people won't turn up. People who say they're coming, who then drop out at the last minute (I know, I've been guilty of this myself). Friends who insist on bringing their 'other halves' who I haven't met and who then spend the evening snogging in a corner and not talking to anyone else. Then there's the odds and sods who arrive on their own and don't mingle, so as the guilty hostess you then feel obliged to babysit them all night. Then there's those who leave early/turn up late or just don't bother turning up at all. Also the fun usually just extends to a civilised meal - I avoid making a proper night of it. (Being January, everyone's skint - plus having to queue up outside a pub in the freezing cold is never fun).
So yeah - birthdays and me have never really coexisted harmoniously. But when I don't do anything, I then get all forlorn, a bit like my 11-year-old self with nothing but bath salts and a fictional admirer named Todd for company.
Hence, how to celebrate the big 3-0 is a tricky one. It seems like your final chance to have a last 'hurrah' before you're officially an adult. And given the fact that many of my friends have moved out of London and are settled with kids, it makes it more difficult and costly for them to come on a wild night out, let alone go away for the weekend. And where best to go? New York or Las Vegas sound fun but it's tricky getting people to shell out over a grand and go away with a load of strangers for no other reason than that It's Viola's Birthday.
Then I feel guilty trying to organise too much of a big bash, lest it becomes like that episode of TOWIE where Chloe Simms has a 'fake wedding' (complete with bride's dress) to celebrate her 30th and make her feel better about being single. Hence why I batted away my mother's suggestion of having a 'big family do' in case it seems like a surrogate engagement party. Plus, turning 30 in the company of my parents and their pissed friends (as much as I love them) wasn't exactly the glamorous soir ée I'd envisioned.
I think people feel like they need to push the boat out when celebrating their 30th (i.e. 'look how far I've come!') But do I really need a party on a rooftop pool in Beverley Hills to show that I'm Finally Successful? No. But I'd rather not sit at home with a box set either. So what to do? (Any suggestions or successful '30th birthday' stories, please feel free to pop me a comment in the box below ...)
I know my well-meaning relatives were probably struggling with what to get me, seeing as I was too old for Lego but too young for make-up, but seriously - there's only so many baths a girl can take ... I spent the whole day bored out of my mind and the evening celebrations at Deep Pan Pizza with some girls from school wasn't enough to lift my spirits. I know this makes me sound like the world's most ungrateful brat - and kind of ironic since I now write about beauty products for a living - but compared to the excitement and fun-filled days birthday once were for the first ten years of my life, they've been the biggest let down ever since.
Milestone birthdays are ten times worse - like my 16th birthday in a local Italian place. They'd just brought the cake in, my friends had sung a round of 'Happy Birthday', when a drunken, balding middle aged man looked through the window, saw the number 16 on the balloon and made shagging motions at us ...
18 wasn't much fun either - my friend and I ended up bunking off school, going to Tesco (the glamour!) and buying some dodgy-looking 'cayenne pepper shots' with my new found freedom. Then later that week I had a joint family 'do in a scout hut, with another 18 year old whose parents were friends of mine. Again, not the raucous affair I'd been hoping for.
But my 21st was the worst. It fell on a Friday - couldn't be more perfect right? Wrong. In my last year of uni, I'd had a massive falling out with my main social group and all of my other friends were busy studying for their finals. Hence it ended up just being me and one loyal housemate who probably felt incredibly sorry for me. And we went ... to the cinema. Rock n' roll lifestyle. (I seriously wish I hadn't given up studying French and had spent my third year abroad - I could have celebrated in Paris, dammit!)
Since then I've had a series of friends meeting up for a meal and a few drinks but haven't seen fit to push the boat out. I find birthdays fairly stressful in general. Worrying that people won't turn up. People who say they're coming, who then drop out at the last minute (I know, I've been guilty of this myself). Friends who insist on bringing their 'other halves' who I haven't met and who then spend the evening snogging in a corner and not talking to anyone else. Then there's the odds and sods who arrive on their own and don't mingle, so as the guilty hostess you then feel obliged to babysit them all night. Then there's those who leave early/turn up late or just don't bother turning up at all. Also the fun usually just extends to a civilised meal - I avoid making a proper night of it. (Being January, everyone's skint - plus having to queue up outside a pub in the freezing cold is never fun).
So yeah - birthdays and me have never really coexisted harmoniously. But when I don't do anything, I then get all forlorn, a bit like my 11-year-old self with nothing but bath salts and a fictional admirer named Todd for company.
Hence, how to celebrate the big 3-0 is a tricky one. It seems like your final chance to have a last 'hurrah' before you're officially an adult. And given the fact that many of my friends have moved out of London and are settled with kids, it makes it more difficult and costly for them to come on a wild night out, let alone go away for the weekend. And where best to go? New York or Las Vegas sound fun but it's tricky getting people to shell out over a grand and go away with a load of strangers for no other reason than that It's Viola's Birthday.
Then I feel guilty trying to organise too much of a big bash, lest it becomes like that episode of TOWIE where Chloe Simms has a 'fake wedding' (complete with bride's dress) to celebrate her 30th and make her feel better about being single. Hence why I batted away my mother's suggestion of having a 'big family do' in case it seems like a surrogate engagement party. Plus, turning 30 in the company of my parents and their pissed friends (as much as I love them) wasn't exactly the glamorous soir ée I'd envisioned.
I think people feel like they need to push the boat out when celebrating their 30th (i.e. 'look how far I've come!') But do I really need a party on a rooftop pool in Beverley Hills to show that I'm Finally Successful? No. But I'd rather not sit at home with a box set either. So what to do? (Any suggestions or successful '30th birthday' stories, please feel free to pop me a comment in the box below ...)
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