A restaurant you should not ever go to, and especially not on your birthday

Last Tuesday, my mum, the marvellous Tutster, turned 64. I love birthdays, always have. There’s something exciting about turning another year older, having accrued another year of wisdom, and thinking, ‘FINALLY! This is the year I’m going to achieve all the things I keep putting off. THIS is the YEAR! (And even if it isn’t the year, at least you can renew your optimism again, the next time your birthday comes around).

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This is what 64 looks like. If 64 was a grainy photograph of Tutti holding a box of presents.

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