Happy 30th Birthday To Me… The Prologue

My birthday celebrations last year were strung out over a week. The Kiwi binned me off on my actual B-Day for a stag do. Such was his guilt at this abandonment that I managed to prosper – he treated me to a two night stay at Chateau Marmont in Los Angeles. Yes, the very same place where Led Zeppelin threw their TVs out the window and rode Harleys through the lobby; Jim Morrison scaled the drainpipe instead of taking the lift into his suite; John Belushi died of an overdose; Britney Spears reportedly got kicked out of at the height of her lunacy and Lindsay Lohan used to live.

With Harry Cohn’s words “If you must get in trouble, do it at the Chateau Marmont” ringing in my ears I did my best to channel my inner rock chick. But we actually had a pretty chilled time, sitting opposite Nicole Richie in the lounge bar, chatting to Jerry Stiller and eyeing up Milo Ventimiglia on the patio. We swam in the pool overhung with jasmine blossom and eucalyptus leaves alongside Californian models (never have I felt more like a mozzarella-coloured blimp alongside these long-limbed bronze goddesses) and strolled up Sunset Boulevard to Hollywood.

Imagine my devastation when just two days after we left, Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson had a very public break up at the Chateau, screaming at each other out of the hotel windows and the police being called to eject La Lohan. Bah.

So anyhoo, on March 21^st as the Kiwi was Go-Karting his way around Stagsville, I was hanging out with my best girls at Champneys in Tring. A blissful time was had by all as we swam in pools, lounged outside by the Jacuzzi in our fluffy white robes and free slippers (yep, still got ‘em), gossiped in the lounge rooms, spotted Eastenders stars over a macrobiotic lunch, water aerobic’d, yoga’d, had facials and drank mint tea.

This year I'm having just one party to rock the party... A Sunday afternoon gathering of my nearest and dearest in a quaint old pub in Hampstead. Babies welcome, of course.

TBC...