Lots of stuff

I have just come back to work this morning after nine months' maternity leave. It's a bit of a bummer, but I can now finally reveal my news to the world: I've quit my job. I'm going to start a PhD in September and I'll be doing some undergraduate lecturing to keep a bit of cash coming in.

In other news, it was my birthday last weekend (boo-hiss!) and Conor gave me the best birthday present in the world, ever (yeay!). A 1969 MGB GT. Gorgeous! These aren't actually pictures of my car, which is blue, but they look exactly the same. Except for the colour. Which is blue.

Birthday Blues

Oh God.
I'm thirty.

I spent most of the week before last being horribly depressed in the lead up to my birthday, and much of the time since has been spent recovering my usual joie de vivre.

This exchange is the only type of support that I could expect from my friends:

Gerry: Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, happry Birthday dear Penfold, Happy Birthday to you!
Or it may be tomorrow. But have a good one anyway Mrs Murnane. So is there a big party for your, em, yeah, em, 29th, Yes, 29 is a safe number.
Many more of them
G

Me: The depression has been settling on my shoulders for the past couple of weeks... I'm 29. Until Thursday. When I'll be upgraded to 29v2.1 [Sob]

Gerry: Ah to be young. Oh, wait, I am. Unlike you old people. Face it, you're like windows 3.11, outdated.

Me: (to Conor) This guy is supposed to be my friend...

Conor: I think you are taking this thirty thing too seriously. It only symbolises the end of your young life.

Gah! See what I'm up against? You had started so well, Gerry! Never mind - you'll get yours! And you Con - I was sorely mistaken for thinking that you might have had a little sympathy - O aged one!