What every woman wants on her birthday...

What do Will Smith, Marilyn Manson, Jay-Z, Helena Christiansen and I have in common? We are all 46. I turned last week and it’s hard to know how to celebrate 46 years. If I lit that many candles on a birthday cake all at once I’d set my chin hair alight.

“What do you want for your birthday?” my husband asked. I never know what to say. I’m not a handbag girl, rarely wear make up and am at that stage where I am lucky enough to have everything I need. I suggested a surprise and he went quiet because, let’s face it, a surprise can be anything. A pound of Jane Russell’s sausages could be a surprise, so could a whoopee cushion or a goat.

My birthday arrived and the kids handed me gifts. I was handed three bars of smelly soap, some hand cream, deodorant and bubble bath. I put them away in the bathroom. For for the next month or two, I will get immense pleasure from their gifts and reek of roses as I push the trolley round Aldi.

My husband went off to work early and left his present, the ‘surprise’ with our son to guard. “You mustn’t open it til Dad gets home” he told me. I sat looking at it all morning. The ‘surprise’ was such an odd shape. About the size of a tray but bigger one end than the other, was it a tray? That would be a ridiculous surprise; I’ve got two that I don’t use already. The only person I know who has three trays is Frances Brennan. That afternoon as I tried to watch Wimbledon, my eyes kept going back to the mystery in the corner.

I picked it up. It wasn’t heavy but it wasn’t light either. I was about to shake it when the youngest came in again and caught me, “PUT THAT DOWN”. I put it down. “What is it?” “Not telling you,” he replied, sitting down beside me to watch the tennis. “Give me a clue” “NO!” I headed into the kitchen to find my teenager peeling baby new potatoes with a bread knife.

She kindly offered to make the dinner, which was much appreciated by this birthday girl. I’ve made somewhere in the region of 20,000 family meals in last eighteen years, not bad for someone who failed home economics. I was ordered to go back to the tennis and leave her to it. That left me in the front room with Wimbledon, the surprise and my son.

“Go on, give me a clue,” I whispered. He got up and peered into the kitchen, and then tip toed back again. “OK. Ask me some questions”.  “Can you eat it?” “No”. “Can you wear it?” “Err, no”. “Have any of my friends got one?” “NO!” The last answer bothered me. It was a firm no. That meant that what ever it was 100% not a handbag. “Would you like one of what ever it is?” “Err, I might”. “Is it anything to do with Lego?” “No”. Phew. There was a chance that he might have got me something totally mad like a Titanic Lego kit.

It was soon four in the afternoon, well into my birthday. The surprise was right in front of me and I was not allowed to open it. The tennis was not enough of a distraction. My son got up, tiptoed into the kitchen and came back to the sofa with the phone. “Shall I phone Dad and ask him if you can open it?” I nodded and put my thumbs up. If the girls got wind of what was about to happen, they would put a stop to it immediately.

“Dad. Mum’s really sad because she wants to open the surprise. Can I let her open it or does she really have to wait til you come home?” Silence for a moment, Then the magic; he put his little thumb up. “Thanks. Bye”. With that I ran over to the surprise and without holding back, ripped it open like a three year old on Christmas morning.

Inside, I discovered a black fabric case, the sort of case that you would put a laptop in. But this was no laptop, it was bigger and it’s shape too irregular. “What is it?” I looked at my son. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. I carefully undid the zip that went all around case and discovered loads of plastic. Still totally flummoxed, I took the wrapping off and there it was, revealed in all its glory. The surprise.

I am not sure what Jay-Z got for his birthday. I am guessing Beyonce got him something like a gold knuckle-duster. Helena Christiansen might have received an elegant piece of jewelry, earrings or a bracelet. As for Marilyn Manson, eye liner. But I genuinely believe that Will Smith would have liked my surprise. He’s a musical man. I just wish that I were more of a musical woman and my 46^th year is destined to be musical because my husband gave me a glockenspiel.

Back in the eighties, I used to watch legendary stargazer Patrick Moore play his glockenspiel. It was a large wooden instrument and he played daintily with super speed. It always amazed me. Some time, in the past eighteen years of marriage, I must have mentioned that to my husband. Fast forward to last week and he thought that it would be the perfect surprise.  It was, without doubt, the last thing on earth that I expected.  I was genuinely, 100% surprised.

With my son watching, I picked up the beaters and played the only tune I know how to play on any musical instrument. I banged out a plinky-plonky ‘Happy Birthday’ to myself on the metal keys.

If you know anything about the glockenspiel, please contact me. I need to add to my repertoire. I’m giving myself five months to learn ‘Frosty The Snowman’.