Day 93-95: The Birthday Trilogy (feat. Champagne, Stranger Things, and Mild Regret)

My darlings, please accept my deepest apologies for the radio silence - I promise I haven’t been abducted by Vecna or enrolled in a champagne appreciation course (though both are equally plausible).

The truth is far simpler and far more fabulous: I was celebrating my birthday.

And not just any birthday - the kind that leaves your liver writing strongly worded letters to your brain.

Let us rewind to Friday, a.k.a. Day 93, a.k.a. “The Great London Adventure.”

FRIDAY - Stranger Things, Lobster Dreams & a Negroni

I woke up feeling the unmistakable whisper of Mounjaro in my veins - that slightly sicky, floaty sensation that makes you wonder if your pancreas is trying to send you Morse code.

But I refused to let it win. It was my birthday weekend, my boyfriend had planned a surprise day, and I was determined to be a functioning human (or something close to it).

After some strategic toast and coffee (the breakfast of mildly nauseous champions), we set off for London - the city that smells faintly of ambition and Pret.

First stop: Stranger Things: The First Shadow at the Phoenix Theatre.

Now, I don’t want to be dramatic (I do), but it was absolutely sensational.

Like - hold onto your scrunchie - Broadway-level bonkers. The effects were so mind-blowing I half-expected to be dragged into the Upside Down myself.

At one point, I genuinely considered clutching my rosé and shouting, “NOT TODAY, VECNA!”

The production was eerie, emotional, and just pure Stranger Things magic.

Young Joyce and Hopper were perfection, and the way it ties to the main show?

Chef’s kiss.

Speaking of chefs’ kisses - we shared a bottle of Rosé Moët Champagne because, of course we did. Fizzy pink joy in a glass! It went straight to my head (and probably my pancreas again), but I was too busy loving life to care.

Honestly, hurry up November - I need the final season before my emotional stability expires.

Post-theatre, we stopped at Brown’s for a quick drink. I ordered a Negroni - because I’m an adult, apparently - and remembered about halfway through that Negronis are made entirely of alcohol and regret.

Then came dinner at J Sheekey’s, a proper London institution where all the A-listers allegedly dine (and, for one night only, me - the Mounjaro Marvel herself). The place oozes old-school glamour - red leather booths, crisp white tablecloths, and waiters who look like they’ve seen Judi Dench in her natural habitat.

I had half a lobster and champagne (because nothing says “sophisticated woman” like wearing a bib while drinking bubbles).

My other half went for roasted salmon in dashi broth -so posh I think it bowed to him before being eaten. Everything was divine.

But of course, one cannot end a birthday eve without a little chaos.

So off we went to The Little Scarlet Door, the cutest, quirkiest bar with DJs spinning bangers and cocktails that looked like they’d been conjured by fairies on acid. I was already full, yet somehow managed to sample a few cocktails that could’ve fuelled a rocket.

Did we stop there?

Of course not.

We finished the night at Mr Fogg’s Gin Parlour, which is exactly what it sounds like: Victorian decadence meets utter mayhem.

Their margaritas?

Absolute elite.

I would marry one if the law allowed it.

We got home before midnight - a rare victory - and, well, let’s just say… my stomach filed for bankruptcy. I was a little sick, but honestly?

Bloody worth it.

Best.

Birthday.

Eve.

Ever.

And my boyfriend?

The absolute best.

Thoughtful, funny, patient, and currently shortlisted for sainthood.

SATURDAY - Birthday, Boujee Breakfast & Coldwater Chaos

My actual birthday began with my better half serving up smoked salmon toast with cream cheese, capers, lemon, and black pepper.

I nearly proposed to him.

The breakfast of queens, truly.

Then came the avalanche of birthday magic - cards, flowers, cakes, and presents galore.

I was spoilt rotten and loved every second.

Among the treasures were a Seahawks winter bobble hat (perfect for my upcoming season of dramatic winter walks), lots of chocolates, and the most absolutely stunning framed cat posters - true works of art that will make Ruby and Molly think they’ve finally gone mainstream.

And that’s not even all - there was more, because apparently, my boyfriend’s love language is “shower her with gifts until she squeals.”

We decided to take it slow (translation: recover from the Negroni hangover), so we popped to M&S, that British temple of middle-class delight, and picked up some fancy Chinese food for dinner.

Except…

I only managed the starters before declaring myself “gastronomically deceased.”

The mains?

Still in the fridge, untouched, like little edible time capsules.

Miraculously, I felt fine - no nausea, no dizziness, just bliss and bubbles. We toasted to my birthday with a few drinks and settled in for an evening of telly:

• Coldwater (the ending! WHAT was that?! I still don’t know if I loved it or need therapy).

• Then Grand Designs, episode three, which was pure architectural lunacy - some poor bloke trying to build a spaceship made of glass in a swamp. Classic.

It was one of those perfect, cozy birthdays where nothing goes to plan but everything’s lovely anyway.

SUNDAY - The Crash Landing

By Sunday, my body officially filed for early retirement.

The plan was dinner with family.

The reality?

Bed.

Blanket.

Regret.

The side effects of the jab + two days of champagne, lobster, and emotional overstimulation finally caught up. I barely managed toast for breakfast and soup for lunch before crawling back into bed, dramatically whispering “never again” (until next weekend).

Still - so worth it. The best birthday I’ve had in years.

BONUS DRAMA: The Cat Chronicles

In the background of all this human chaos, there was also feline warfare.

Molly, the self-appointed Queen of Upstairs, has been launching nightly attacks on Ruby, the sweet, slightly confused peace ambassador.

There were full-blown cat fights - fur flying, hissing, the works.

Poor Ruby didn’t even get to sleep with mummy. Heartbreaking.

I keep wishing they’d just learn to love each other and become best friends - like an adorable Netflix spin-off called The Purr-sisters.

But alas, diplomacy has failed.

So yes, my dear Jabbers, that was my Day 93–95 Birthday Trilogy:

Champagne.

Stranger Things.

Lobster.

Seahawks hats and cat art.

Cats behaving badly.

And one very happy, slightly exhausted, mildly nauseous birthday girl.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a 5am alarm, an office commute, and a liver begging for mercy.

Stay fabulous, stay hydrated, and remember: if you can’t handle the Upside Down, just order another margarita.

With Love,

JABatha Christie