In a hair under two weeks, I turn 27 (on March 25th to be exact). And while I’m sure that some of you wish to shower me with tokens of your esteem, I appreciate that some of you just plain don’t love me enough to buy me the nice things I deserve. And while I am hurt and rejected by this, I’m prepared to offer you all a way to make it up to me. Because I know you feel bad about it. I know you do. [1]

This coming Saturday, the 20th of March, I and several of my friends with birthdays around now, will be celebrating our increasing wisdom at The Court on Tottenham Court Road. [streetmap]

Because half of my friends are on a budget, and the other half are deeply committed alcoholics, the bar is apparently both cheap and open late. I’m planning on getting there about six-ish, and if you can read this post, you’re invited to my birthday party, even if an accident of geography would prevent you from attending.

That’s this coming Saturday, at The Court on Tottenham Court Road. Be there, or at least have fun doing whatever it is you’re doing elsewhere.

[1] And, y’know, even if you don’t, come along anyway, because I’d love to see you.