It's that time of our lives. The thirtieth birthday parties are flowing thick and fast at the minute. We've had Dr Jim's, and now Big Chris's party in Cambridge. How does one get to Cambridge from MCR? Via Leeds and Peterborough, it seems. Four-and-a-half hours later, and I arrived.
Chris never changes. He's exactly the same as he was at Christmas. As he was last Christmas. As he was five years ago. His fiance, Flora, is beautiful. Later on, after the rugby, I met Ben and his lovely wife Callie. She's really nice, and she likes Radiohead and arthouse cinema. They're not really Ben's cup of tea, I thought to myself. I didn't say anything though.
Chris's social life and his work life are really closely linked. I suppose that's what comes of a long days work culture. His friends were his colleagues. Apart from a few from uni, and a couple of us from school, most of the crowd were from his firm.
We went to a terrible nightclub. But it wasn't my party, so I wasn't going to complain.