Celebrating your birthday might not be the first thing on your mind when tucking into Christmas dinner, but for me, it’s a priority.
While Christmas Day is filled with festive cheer and goodwill, spare a thought for me, the birthday boy who can’t hit the pub because he’s buried under turkey trimmings and cheap Christmas cracker jokes.
Don’t worry, there are ways to celebrate in style even if you were born during the most wonderful time of the year. Just like the late Queen Elizabeth II, I too have two birthdays. There are ways to avoid the cold cuts and Wallace and Gromit marathon on BBC One, believe it or not…
So I thought why not celebrate on another day? Gather your mates and hit the streets for some spirited birthday celebrations to mark 25 years on this planet.
But it’s not as easy as it sounds, especially when your pals are saving their pennies for presents for their so-called loved ones. Not many are keen on a chilly November night out in Leeds.
However, a single student discount shared among the 12 of us is a precious commodity. The last time I celebrated my birthday, I won the Premier League on Football Manager and injured my knee at a Yard Act gig. Turning 25 was a much quieter affair.
There’s not much else to do but brace for the impending quarter-life crisis. However, a prime cut of steak and three generous glasses of house red at Flat Iron is a way to weather that storm.
It’s about developing a taste that matches the maturing frontal lobe, which is now replacing memories of gigs with council tax reminders and parish council leaflets. Terrifying, but such is life’s journey, and no amount of cocktails can halt it.
Still, downing 16 martinis is a valiant attempt. It’s also enough, I’ve discovered, to make me feel quite ill. Lesson learned. To lift my spirits (and to recover from almost throwing up the Harvester fish and chips the next evening), I returned to the familiar territory of live music.
A staple of any extended birthday celebration, moshing with strangers keeps the heart beating. But there was no wild dancing at the First Direct Arena this time. Instead, I stood at the back, peering over a sea of lime green balaclavas to catch a glimpse of Fontaines D.C. The following night, I sat down to watch Sam Fender.
In a stroke of luck, the full Newcastle v Liverpool match was being broadcasted, providing a delight for neutrals including someone who appeared eerily like Peter Beardsley, watching from just four rows back. The match was somewhat haphazard but still much better than resorting to a makeshift Christmas cake topped with a flaccid candle.
The sentiment “Merry Christmas,” is never ideally followed by “and happy birthday,” however, sometimes life has other plans.