Death by Burrito

So I got older. And I even got a couple of presents from my wishlist, including two pairs of bloody lovely Minnetonka moccasins that I can probably never wear because I forgot I live in rainy London and it's now autumn. Konch took the day off, baked me a delicious birthday cake, and we watched Game of Thrones (I am a full blown addict) in the afternoon - ultimate indulgence. 

4 layer choc cake! Pablo decided the yellow icing...

4 layer choc cake! Pablo decided the yellow icing...

Even though many folk like to curl up in a depressed little heap and pretend they aren't getting any older, I've always maintained that despite the inevitable ageing stuff AT LEAST a birthday is an excellent excuse for a party. I countered that lovely, wholesome day with a night out at Death by Burrito with my bestest girlfriends. The food was flawless - my fish tacos were melt in the mouth morsels of batter coated fish in corn tortillas with delicious slaw and a moreish spicy sauce. The pork w/ crackling burrito I tasted was the food of dreams. Helpfully a tequila-only cocktail menu meant the margaritas flowed. And flowed. Cat and Jo entertained themselves with through-window charades, and lovely Lisa gave me a big fizzy birthday sparkler for our petit fours of red and black macarons. I am more and more convinced I could live on just Mexican food (and drink) forever. 

Recovery the next day was EPIC. But both the kiddos kipped at the same time, and I mostly spent the day on the sofa with Pablo watching A Monster in Paris, feeling emotional, and drinking lucozade whilst it poured with rain. Both kiddos thoughtfully kipped at the same time which meant I could too (unheard of!) and Leonie assured me I wasn't alone in my agony with regular text updates...