For the first time ever I have been commissioned to write a follow up blog. Admittedly my patron was a little bit wobbly bob at the time she tasked me with this new project, but I distinctly heard her ask someone to take our photo for her ‘follow up birthday post’ ; far be it for me to disappoint the birthday girl and ruin our forever friendship. I give you Part 2.

I left you last week at the point when my oldest friend (not my oldest friend but the friend I have known the longest) was about to turn 60. What I did not share in that blog was that my friend’s husband (legend of a man) was planning her real birthday surprise and had set up a ‘secret birthday’ chat group to which my friend was not invited (to the chat group, not the party – she didn’t know about the party, but would clearly get a warm and welcome invite when all was revealed. Keep up).

On my friend’s actual birthday, those of us on the secret chat group became paranoid that we would be the numpty who would break the birthday embargo and risk her husband’s chagrin. (He’s a legend, but you should see him when he’s angry). All of us were swerving telephone conversations with her ladyship in case we dropped a clanger. We then became collectively worried that my friend would think we were not making a fuss of her on her actual birthday, and worse, knew that if she did think this she would be far too nice to say anything. For the first time in all the years I have known her, my friend was literally late to her own party. I like to believe that together we pulled off the impossible and that she really did not know we were all primed to meet her in her favourite restaurant on Saturday night.

Thankfully, on my friend’s actual birthday, she was so love-bombed by everyone she knew that she finished the day believing that she had exhausted all birthday possibilities.

Now, my friend and I message each other at least once a day. Although we live some three hours apart, before work we like to exchange a little homily about the dire state of education, how wonderful our children are (we do not discuss this, but I just want to check if the four of them are reading), and if it is wrong to be counting down the clock until retirement. Each Friday we always ask the other if we have, ‘any nice plans for the weekend?’ My friend’s plans are usually much more exciting than mine, but last Friday I found myself feeling a tad giddy that for once we would be sharing the same plans; I also felt duplicitous because – if she asked me directly – I would have to lie and pretend that we would be apart as per usual.

Thankfully my friend was distracted by the surprise arrival of her two sons and their intent to prove to her that she is not the National Crazy Golf Champion. Being the only female in their household, my friend has taken great pleasure over the years reminding them that she has never been beaten at this sport. Let us just spare their blushes with the breaking news that my friend is still the champion, and that she segwayed seamlessly from her victory to an afternoon river cruise complete with picnic hamper. (I add this detail because my friend’s husband – obviously still a legend – had ensured that no stone was left unturned in the celebration of his wife’s birthday and was wise enough to keep her busy right from a Saturday sea-side breakfast through to announcing at the end of the afternoon that if she could find a decent frock, the boys and he ‘might take her out for a bite to eat’.

Last week I shared with you that my friend is a spontaneous hugger and that her eyes often leak when she is feeling emotional. True to form, when she walked into the restaurant on Saturday night my friend did not know whether to hug or cry. She was a mercurial vision. In the event she just ran from person to person (a miracle in itself because she was sporting some impressive high heels after refusing to be hostage to the fractured bone in her foot – engineered by some tree-house sleep walking a few weeks before. I kid you not. If you want this story, commission Part 3).

By gathering this band of brothers around her, my friend’s husband (legend) unwittingly gifted me with a collage of new information about my mate. I thought I knew her well but last Saturday – among other things – I discovered that:

• She wears contact lenses. Has done for years apparently. Her glasses (I knew about these) only come out when she can’t be bothered to fiddle around.
• She really, really does not like Coldplay. I think she is wrong about this, but as it was her birthday, viva la vida.
• I share something in common with her other closest friend – neither of us boast curtains in our houses. In my case this is because I am too lazy to buy curtain poles but it turns out that her other good friend likes ambient and natural light in which to practise yoga in her knickers. I thought I was the only weirdo in my friend’s life, but this company feels good.
• She can win at Crazy Golf even when she is holding the club upside down and even when the men in her life really, really do want to see her lose (they are lovely chaps in every other sense, but they do NOT like losing).
• My friend and her younger sister have some rather intriguing ancestry – we know this because her sister shared the result of her DNA testing kit while we were waiting for dessert to arrive. For my friend’s next birthday we have agreed to club together and buy her a premium testing package because we do not know how many generations the existing kit has sifted through and we do like to tie up frayed edges.
• She and her husband disagree about goat’s cheese. Happily for my friend, a good slab was included in their birthday picnic hamper; sadly for her husband, the remains are still fermenting in their fridge.

It came as no surprise to see my oldest friend surrounded by her lovely people for this – no longer secret – birthday dinner. It came as no surprise to hear her thank each and every one of us for making her evening so special by attending (as if this was a hardship). It came as no surprise to see my friend well up as she thanked that legend of a husband for organising this gathering and for putting up with her over many, many years (the irony). She had no time to prepare this thank you speech because she did not know that it would be needed. As ever, my friend’s heart did the talking and it is a gifted after dinner speaker.

Part 3 of this blog may never get commissioned, but I would like to order a repeat gathering of these lovely people in the very near future. My friend says that she is still processing last week – and still unwrapping birthday presents. She has moved on from birthday denial and is now muttering that being a sexagenarian is a wonderful thing. If only she liked Coldplay I could offer her some lyrics to describe her ‘Adventure of a Lifetime’, but I do not want to draw the curtains on our friendship – perhaps this is why I do not own any. Instead I intend to stick around for her 70th in the hope that she will get to her own party on time.