Birthday

It’s my birthday today. I’m 61.

I’ve never been one for celebrating birthdays. I’ve no idea what I did on my 18th or 21st birthdays, for example.

I certainly didn’t have a party. I can’t imagine anything worse!

Before last year one of the few birthdays I can remember is my 30th when I was living in Camberwell, south east London, and some friends came round for dinner.

I remember it because one of the guests made an enormous cake with ‘30’ on it.

Becoming 30 also felt like a milestone, far more than 40, 50 or even 60.

Friends were starting to get married, buy houses, move out of London. The days of dinner parties and wild weekends (I’m kidding) were coming to an end.

Last year, for my 60th birthday, my wife booked an unexpected treat - an overnight stay at a Michelin-starred restaurant in rural Lincolnshire.

Now she says we should do something special every year because “it may be your last”, which is comforting.

Over the weekend therefore we had a couple of nights at The Crown in Wells-next-the-Sea on the Norfolk coast.

The small, dimly lit bar had a wood burner and leather armchairs. The dining room was lined with books and a feature of our bedroom was an enormous copper bath (which was in the bedroom not the bathroom).

Yesterday we visited Holkham Beach which is where the closing shots of Shakespeare in Love were filmed.

The Norfolk beach was used to replicate the shores of Virginia. I hope it was warmer for Gwyneth Paltrow because yesterday it was absolutely freezing!