Another Year Older, Another Year Wiser? Perhaps Not
Birthdays have a funny way of sneaking up on you, don’t they? One moment you’re smugly ticking off New Year’s resolutions (or avoiding them entirely), and the next, the calendar has marched on with indecent haste, and you’re staring down yet another candle-laden cake. And so, it was my turn once again.
Now, in the Cleary household, birthdays are never a trivial affair. We’re rather good at turning a perfectly ordinary week into a prolonged festival of food, drink, and a bit of chaos for good measure. This year was no exception—though admittedly it began with a rather quiet start before escalating into the full-blown, slightly raucous, inevitably messy celebration we’re known for.
The Quiet Start: A Midweek Meal
Dining at the Catering College
My actual birthday fell during the week, which is always a bit of a bother. There’s something vaguely anticlimactic about a birthday when the following day you’ve got an early alarm, a train to catch, and a pile of emails waiting. Still, Michele—my partner-in-crime and long-suffering organiser of all things celebratory—made sure the occasion wasn’t entirely swallowed up by weekday mundanity.
We went out to dinner at the Wigan catering college where Lewis, our budding chef, is learning his trade. Think of it as a delicious halfway house between training and Michelin star dining, with the added frisson of wondering whether your starter might accidentally be flambéed into oblivion by a nervous apprentice.
Joshua joined us, though poor Lewis was stuck behind the bar pulling pints instead of plating up. The rest of the usual suspects—Sam, Matt, Harry, Drew, and Fran—were off doing whatever mysterious and undoubtedly less important things people do when they abandon you on your birthday. Their loss.
A Feast Fit for… Well, Me
The meal was genuinely superb. I started with a duck salad that was so pretty I almost felt guilty for spearing it with my fork. Almost. The main was a perfectly cooked sea bream, delicate, flaky, and positively begging for applause. Then came pudding (yes, we Northerners will always call it pudding, never “dessert”), a raspberry jelly with rhubarb and mascarpone. It was the kind of pud that makes you close your eyes for a second, just to appreciate the joy of sugar, fruit, and cream conspiring together. Nom nom nom, as the kids say.
The Big Bash: Party Time at Casa Cleary
Missing Faces, But No Less Merriment
Of course, a birthday meal with just three of us wasn’t going to cut it. Michele knows me far too well for that. So, she planned the proper knees-up for the weekend—an at-home bash that would’ve made Bacchus proud.
Not everyone could make it. Sam and Drew, along with their partners and my grandson Harry, had other commitments, and a couple of close friends were similarly indisposed. But honestly? Even with a few empty chairs, the party atmosphere didn’t falter one bit. By the small hours of Sunday morning, the living room was still buzzing, the glasses were still clinking, and Mum and Dad had wisely decided to crash for the night rather than attempt the drive home.
The Aftermath
The day after any good party always feels a little hazy, doesn’t it? That slightly bleary, slightly smug sense of having had a jolly good time. We were invited to Sam and Matt’s for Sunday tea, which sounded like the perfect antidote to a late night. Alas, Michele wasn’t feeling well, so Josh and I represented the family, leaving Lewis to soldier on at work.
The weather, mercifully, decided to put on its best show. Drew and Fran turned up too, and before long we’d abandoned the idea of “tea” and fired up the barbecue instead. Sausages sizzling, sun shining—it was one of those impromptu afternoons that make you grateful for good company and good weather.
Young Chef on the Rise
Extra Shifts at The Radisson
Lewis has been keeping himself busy. The catering college is all well and good, but the lad’s also been grafting at The Radisson in Manchester, putting in extra shifts whenever they cry out for “all hands on deck”.
One particular evening, he’s fairly sure he whipped up a banana split for none other than David Cameron. Yes, that David Cameron—the then Prime Minister. Imagine that: one week you’re revising knife skills for your coursework, the next you’re dishing up frozen banana-based joy to the leader of the country. I do hope Mr Cameron appreciated the extra drizzle of chocolate sauce.
Back to the Grind
A Very Long Monday
While Lewis has been mastering custards and cocktails, I’ve been chained to the world of design work. Business is brisk at the moment, which is good news for the firm (and my bank account), but it does mean I’m spending rather too much quality time with train timetables.
Take last Monday, for instance. I was up at the crack of dawn for the 07:30 train from Wigan to Birmingham, where I had a meeting with our M&E team leader as well as my own boss. The topic? AutoCAD MEP (#Ad)—a thrilling subject if you’re the kind of person who enjoys spending hours arguing about duct sizes and digital layers.
I didn’t make it back until 19:20, a full twelve hours later, and was absolutely knackered. The saving grace? A mate of mine, whom I’ve known for over eight years, insisted on treating me to lunch. Cheers for that, pal—though I did promise it’ll be my round when you finally venture up to Manchester.
Weekend Woes
Poorly Lewis
The weekend brought lovely weather but, alas, not everyone could enjoy it. Lewis has been quite poorly, suffering from both a nasty toothache and bouts of sickness. We ended up at the emergency dentist, where the ominous words “root canal” were muttered. Hardly the stuff of birthday cheer.
The sickness, we think, might be down to him popping too many painkillers in an effort to dull the toothache. Cue a stern lecture about moderation and a weekend spent tucked up in bed, missing his shifts at work. Poor lad.
Little Surprises
Just when you think a week is winding down into the ordinary, life throws you a small but delightful curveball. This morning, I had a surprise call from a close friend I hadn’t spoken to in ages. You know the sort of chat—picking up exactly where you left off, no awkward silences, just easy conversation that leaves you smiling after you hang up.
Next Stop: Heathrow
And so, tomorrow it’s back to reality. I’m off to Heathrow for a couple of days, tape measure in hand, tasked with measuring up an 800-bed hotel. Glamorous, isn’t it? Forget the glittering birthday parties, forget the barbecues and banana splits for prime ministers—sometimes life is simply about squinting at floor plans and muttering under your breath about why corridors are never as straight as they look on paper.
Oh, the joys indeed.
