Happy Birthday to me. Friday was my 33rd and having navigated a hectic workday and the "Jesus made it to 33" jokes I went off to celebrate in Soho. A co-worker and his wife had 30th birthdays last week and we joined forces to throw ourselves a fete in a back room at Lupos on Dean Street. The three of us paced the room nervously for an hour and a half, but the room soon filled with friends and colleagues and the rest of the evening was a whirlwind -- as it should be. The rest of the weekend was quiet and stormy. I went yesterday to the Tate Britain to stare at the Pre-Raphaelite paintings and got stuck in a massive downpour of rain soaking everything I was wearing and carrying. I had tea in the National Gallery and did some shopping. Last night, the BBC had a documentary of Ewan McGregor in the Honduran rainforest -- I'm in love.



In more sombre news, the US began retalitory strikes on Afghanistan last night and London is on hyperalert.We've moved forcibly onto the cusp of the first defining days of this century and I feel the anxiety.