Thirty rhymes with dirty, flirty and shirty and that's my official age now. Woohoo!
Last night we reluctantly boarded the flight back to Edinburgh at 7.40PM New York time, which happened to be 10.40AM on November 1st back in beloved Australia — spookily, the precise time I disembarked The Mothership back in 1977.
If I had enough energy I'd write a proper post prattling on about this magnificient milestone, and how everyone keeps reassuring me that their thirties have been their dazzling prime. Instead I've been frowning at this wee tube of anti-aging creme that the kind folks at Liz Earle Skincare chucked in for free with my latest order.
I also looked back at each of my birthday blog entries for the past seven years and felt all warm and schmoogly remembering all you lovely Commenters Throughout The Ages. And I reckon I'm in a much better frame of mind than when I started writing here aged 22.5. The blog is not so much a thinly disguised distress call now. I think we're all going to be juuuuust fine!