I’ve just returned from Cheeseboy’s where I shared a good bottle of grenache and a couple of good sized hunks of excellent cheese. Very much a typical evening shared between us.
He turned 50 today. Tomorrow it’s my birthday. Naturally this year my birthday is overshadowed by his, but he’s always been a much better birthday celebrator than me. I’m low-key, low fuss, low maintenance. It’s how I like to be. I’m doing fuck all for my birthday. On Saturday I drive down to Red Hill to celebrate Cheeseboy’s birthday proper.
He’s hired a cottage down there at Red Hill Brewery, where a select few of us have been invited down to celebrate the occasion in style. We might tour a selection of local cellar doors. There’s some top shelf wine down that way. Doubtless we’ll sample some of the local brew as well. In the evening is dinner, which I’m cooking. It won’t be anything too grand. There’s a barbecue there and I’ll be preparing a fancy barbecue meal – some bistecca fiorentina, and a butterflied chicken, plus some of my trademark salads (hard to contemplate that H has trademark salads, but it’s true – a beetroot and goats cheese, and a smashed potato, rocket and almond salad).
I’m looking forward to it. Pure fun is in short supply these days. I’ll leave Rigby with my sister and after that, even when cooking, I’ll be putting my feet up. Almost certain I’ll be pretty tawdry late on Saturday. I’m taking down one of my top shelf reds, a Chateau Tanunda, and a 35 year old bottle of vintage port. Gotta drink ‘em sometime.
Back in town Sunday, when I get to celebrate my birthday Sunday night with Donna and JV, good and loyal friends, though I figure Cheeseboy, a good type, and the all the good types down there Saturday will raise a glass too.
This is a good weekend coming up, but it’s a time of year I feel more sentimental these days. One of my best, and certainly my oldest friend lost his mum last week. There’s no sugar coating that. I won’t talk about my mum now, except to say that she was always big on celebrating the important moments. I’d be coy about it, as is my won’t, but she would come gushing when it was my birthday, wanting to make it special. I remember that.
I know Donna has a gift for me, but figure that’s where it ends these days, a far cry from times before. It is what it is. We’ll move on and one day to will be more.