When I’m sixty four

I have a paradoxical view of birthdays. On one hand I am unconcerned about age. I don’t feel either my age nor my mortality, possibly as I nearly lost it 18 years ago with a terrible illness out of nowhere.

I can never understand people who lie about age, my dear mother went as far as to ink out the year on her passport causing confusion at immigration control.

I mix with a lot of people half my age and whilst we discuss many things age difference is not one of them.

This said I enjoyed my birthday as “my day”.

From the time I awoke I was receiving warm messages from around the globe. I don’t see that as it is my birthday I must adopt a new routine.

The last few years I have celebrated it on the South of France as its my favourite place in the world which I most enjoy between mid-March and late April.

I was quite happy to stroll along the Promenade Des Anglais, visit my beloved market and best of all receive a visit on the balcony from Jamie’s great friend Pierre the brown collared dove.

I had my siesta, read my book on Germany by Neil MacGregor and ate and drank well, something I do on most days any way.

The dinner celebration was at La Petite Maison, Nice’s best  known Restaurant and now an international brand with franchises in Mayfair, Dubai and Miami.

I was delighted to see another old friend Frank as our waiter. He remembered me affectionately. The owner Nicole is something of a tartar but she stands as greeter and watches everything in her restaurant.

According to Valerie there were well-known actors on every table.

The acting cast of a new film to be launched in Cannes took up a table for 10 and Nicole had put up a poster of their film Larguees opposite them.

Sadly the cold night air after the Opera, which – whatever Daffers might infer I enjoyed not just for the lovely soprano – got the better of Valerie  and she was below form.

They brought a birthday greeting to the table with tiramisu, and berries which completed a throughout enjoyable birthday.