I had it all planned. For months. Ever since Ripoff said he was doing his annual birthday gig in Kobuci Kert and I decided to have my birthday drinks there. Tickets were bought months ago. All sorted. Invites sent out. People had planned. But the universe decided it wasn’t to be. Massive thunder and lightening kicked off about 5pm and the city was under a sheen of water. We made it as far as the metro station, dodging a deluge of spray from passing cars speeding through puddles. And just as we were about to board, the phone call came. Gig postponed. Till Monday. Plan B needed.

For the last number of years I’ve had my b’day drinks in the local pub and why should tonight be any different. Facebook posts were amended. Phone calls were made. Texts were sent. And more than 20 stalwarts braved the rain to come to Grund.

I’m on record as saying I don’t need stuff. I have enough to last me a lifetime. But the stuff I got was great. Tasteful. Designery. Lovely.  The candles, the ornaments, the plants. And from others, I got experiences. We’ve way too much fruit in the garden in the village. And while the lovely EB was giving me recipes for pear sorbet, I was promising the fruit of my pear trees to K&A to turn into pear cider. Considering I’d gotten a personalised bottle of their apple pálinka, it was the least I could do.

I love the creative. I love people who dare to take the piss out of me and what I’m doing. But it takes someone who is sure of where they’re at with me to do that. I made mention of HC a few blogs ago, him who instigated what is now known as the Athlone Accord. Well, he did creativity in spades. For his birthday, he got a a guitar-shaped fried-egg shaper. For mine, I got this.

Considering my consternation about what it so has only recently been deadened by an acceptance of what is, I was particularly piqued by this gift from the the S’s, parents of the three loveliest children I’ve met … ever. And me without a maternal bone in my body. This is screaming for hammock time.

But of everything I received this evening, this has originality written all over it. It came prefaced with the Trump message at the top of this blog. And I was scared. I’ve been banging on for years about experiences being the best presents (with consumables racking up a close second – loved the wines and the dinners) but stuff I can write about??? Magic.

For those of you who don’t read Hungarian – I get a lesson in how to drive a bus (a full-sized bus) and then get to take 30+ of my mates (if I can find 30 brave souls) on a one-hour drive! How cool is that?

I’ve just turned 51. I got the wrong pizza at lunchtime. My gig got rained out. But 20+ people braved the thunder and came to drink with me under a tarp at Grund. We partied. They left. Some stayed on and came back to mine. Those diehards have finally left, and now I can go to bed, grateful, very grateful, that I have friends.

The cancelled gig is on tomorrow night. The trip to the village has been postponed. And I get another night in the city.