The View Was the Best Thing on the Menu

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoAnita's birthday, and it began, as the good ones do, with someone else doing the work. A friend arrived with breakfast — unannounced in the nicest sense, the sort of gesture that can't be reciprocated so much as passed along later. There's real generosity in feeding someone on their birthday before the day has had a chance to make demands of them. The house smelled like a small occasion by half past eight.

Then I went to work, as usual, which is the unromantic part of birthdays that fall on weekdays. The world declines to observe them. I left her surrounded by the early wave of gifts and made my way in with the mild guilt of a man who knows the better party is happening in his absence.

By all accounts the gifts kept coming. Gifts galore, in fact — the sort of steady arrival that turns a living room into a modest depot by mid-afternoon. She has a gift for being loved, Anita, and days like this simply make the evidence visible. I got updates throughout, each one photographed with the enthusiasm of someone genuinely surprised, which after all these years I still find rather lovely.

The afternoon turned wet. Rain, properly, for hours — the kind that arrives without negotiation and settles in, turning the roads into something to be endured rather than driven. I'd braced myself for a long crawl home and, against all reasonable expectation, got away early and beat the worst of it. Small mercies, and on a birthday, mercies count double.

Dinner was at Anjum, up at KLCC. And here I must be honest, because a diary that only records the good bits isn't worth keeping: it was overrated. Not bad — nothing arrived that offended anyone — but it had that particular quality of a place trading rather more on its address than on its kitchen. Middle Eastern flavours, all correctly assembled, none of them insisting on themselves. You find yourself saying "this is nice" in the tone people use when they mean "this is fine."

The view, though. The view was tremendous. The towers doing their nightly performance, the park below all lit up and green, the whole city arranging itself obligingly outside the window. There's a reason the room is designed to face outward. I'd go back for the view and eat beforehand, which I appreciate is not the review the restaurant is hoping for.

But the company was the point, and the company was excellent. We stayed on longer than we meant to, which is my favourite kind of staying on.

There was a slight drizzle when we came out, barely worth the name, and it had given up by the time we reached the car. The afternoon's downpour had left the air washed and cool, that brief window when the city smells clean.

Home, and we chilled until late. No agenda, no winding-down ritual, just a room with the two of us in it and no particular reason to end the day.

A good birthday. She earned it.

Wagyu, Wagon, and Watching the Semis Take Shape

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoEngland versus Norway called for an early start, and it delivered — a proper quarter-final, the kind that refuses to resolve itself tidily and drags you through extra time before letting anyone breathe out. Bellingham was, once again, the man of the moment, a brace that carried England through to a 2-1 win, the second goal arriving deep into extra time when the whole thing looked like it might crawl towards penalties. Haaland, by contrast, had one of those days that happens to even the best of them — quiet, contained, never quite finding the space he's spent the tournament living in. England through to the semis. Norway home with their heads held reasonably high, having gone rather further than anyone expected of them this time last month.

Ward round followed straight after, conducted with one eye on proceedings elsewhere, as Argentina and Switzerland were doing their own version of the same drama in Kansas City. Extra time again, a Julián Álvarez strike from distance eventually settling it, Argentina through 3-1 and now lined up against England in the semis — which means Wednesday just became rather significant viewing.

Lunch was the day's proper centrepiece: Bendang KL, a first visit, tucked into Kampung Baru in a way that made the whole outing feel slightly like a discovery. We'd booked ahead and arrived early, which turned out to be the right instinct entirely — by the time we left, the place had filled up considerably, queues forming at the door for a table we'd had the good sense to claim in advance. Mak joined us, the lunch doubling as a proper extension of the birthday celebrations, and the food more than justified the trip — good service too, attentive without hovering, the sort of lunch that makes you wonder why you hadn't been before.

From there, a change of pace entirely: Mid Valley, and the ongoing saga of Irfan's phone situation, which finally resolved itself with his old SIM card reactivated and back in service. Not the most glamorous stretch of the day, but satisfying in its own small, administrative way — one of those loose threads finally tied off.

Dinner at home rounded things out gently: a beef carpaccio salad, light and unfussy, exactly the sort of thing an evening asks for after a day that had already delivered its fair share of drama, both culinary and footballing. Two extra-time quarter-finals, a new restaurant discovery, a resolved SIM card, and a semi-final now looming on the horizon — not a bad haul for a Saturday, all told.

Desk, Wagyu, and a Small Victory of Timing

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoThe morning began the way most working mornings do — early, purposeful, ward round first before the rest of the world had properly stirred. This one came with a slightly unusual travelling companion: Irfan's Jellycat, smuggled along to the clinic for no better reason than birthday afterglow, sitting somewhere near my desk like a small soft-furred colleague who contributes nothing but morale. It did its job admirably.

The rest of the working day settled into its familiar shape — behind the desk, steady and unremarkable, the sort of stretch that doesn't ask to be remembered so much as simply got through. Straight through to the afternoon, no great drama, just the quiet accumulation of tasks ticked off one after another.

Lunch, though, was the day properly announcing itself. Kyomo, and wagyu yakiniku that did exactly what good yakiniku ought to — arriving in modest portions and somehow still managing to feel generous, each piece better than the last. Irfan went the sensible route with a kale salad, presumably atoning in advance for whatever excess the rest of us were about to commit. The kimchi tray deserves its own mention, genuinely excellent, sharp and well-balanced in a way that elevated everything around it rather than simply sitting there as garnish. A properly good lunch, the sort that leaves you slightly regretful about the afternoon's remaining commitments, except today there weren't many, which made the whole thing feel entirely without consequence.

From there, a change of register entirely — the pasar malam, all noise and steam and the particular chaos that only a good night market can produce. Otak-otak first, that smoky, wrapped little parcel of a thing that never quite photographs as well as it tastes, followed by nasi lemak, because no proper night market visit really concludes without it. Street food after fine dining is an odd sort of whiplash, but a welcome one — the day covering an impressive amount of culinary ground without ever feeling indulgent for its own sake.

Altogether, a genuinely good day, the sort that doesn't announce itself as special in advance but adds up nicely in the retelling. Wagyu at lunch, otak-otak by evening, a plush bystander watching over the desk in between — not a bad spread for a Wednesday, or whichever day this technically was.

Early to bed regardless, with England kicking off the next morning and no intention of missing it groggy. Some things are worth protecting a night's sleep for, and a quarter-final is squarely one of them.

The Day Itself

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoBirthdays have a way of announcing themselves before you're properly awake, and this one did exactly that — soto and tiramisu for breakfast, which is either a wildly eccentric pairing or a perfectly logical one, depending entirely on who's cooking. Anita had it all prepared before I'd fully surfaced, savoury and sweet sitting side by side on the table like two very different arguments that had somehow agreed to get along. It worked. It shouldn't have, on paper, but it did, and there's something rather lovely about a breakfast that refuses to explain itself.

Presents followed over the same table, which is my preferred way of doing these things — no ceremony, just things handed over between mouthfuls. Irfan's contribution was a Jellycat, the sort of plush absurdity that has no business being as charming as it is, and which I suspect will now take up permanent residence somewhere it has no practical reason to be. It's the kind of gift that says more than its price tag, chosen with a fondness that travelled rather further than London to get here.

Work didn't let the occasion pass unmarked either — more cake arrived through the day, the sort of low-key celebratory ambush that happens when colleagues remember a date you'd half hoped they'd forget, if only to spare you the candles. I didn't mind in the slightest. There's a particular kind of good cheer in being fussed over mildly rather than extravagantly, enough to feel noticed without being made to give a speech.

The day, in truth, was busier than I'd have liked for a birthday — celebrating in fits and starts between everything else that still needed doing, which meant very little in the way of video got captured. Birthdays and documentation don't always cooperate, and today they simply didn't; I was too occupied living it to film much of it, which is probably, on reflection, not the worst trade to make.

By evening, the day had earned its quiet close. Home, settled, nothing more asked of it than rest — which suited me entirely. I caught up with Star City, that strange and compelling corner of the For All Mankind universe, letting an alternate version of ambition and orbit play out on screen while my own feet stayed firmly on the ground for once. A fitting way to let a birthday wind down, watching people reach for the stars while I reached for very little beyond the remote.

The weekend ahead has more meals lined up already, which feels appropriate — birthdays in this house have a way of refusing to stay confined to a single date, spilling generously into the days either side of it. No complaints here. Forty-odd years in, and the soto-and-tiramisu logic still tracks: some pairings simply work because the people making them care enough to try.

A Day Ahead of Schedule

Please click the photo above to play the daily videoThere's a particular quality to the day before your birthday — a sort of soft-launch version of the thing itself, all the goodwill and none of the obligation to feel a year older just yet. I've always rather liked it. Today had that feel: pleasant, unhurried, arriving early to a party it wasn't technically invited to.

Lunch was the centrepiece, and rightly so — Jibby Chow, which does the sort of relaxed, well-assembled food that suits a celebration without demanding you dress the part. Good coffee, good company, the kind of meal where conversation outlasts the food by a comfortable margin. There's something to be said for a birthday lunch that arrives a day early; it removes the pressure of the actual date and lets the occasion simply be enjoyed rather than performed. I left in good spirits, which is not always guaranteed after a midweek lunch, and counted that as a small win in itself.

The afternoon, mercifully, didn't try to compete with the morning's good mood. I was home earlier than the week had trained me to expect, the sort of early that feels almost suspicious after a run of long clinics and later evenings — like being let out of school before the bell, uncertain whether to feel relieved or slightly guilty about it. I chose relieved.

Dinner brought its own quiet pleasure: Anita and I at Pal Gae Ook, which does Korean food with the sort of unfussy confidence that makes for an easy, unhurried evening. No occasion needed beyond the day itself, though the birthday-adjacent glow of the afternoon clearly hadn't worn off. Good food shared without any particular urgency has a way of settling a day nicely, rounding off its rougher edges, and this did exactly that.

The evening that followed asked for very little — a quiet one, deliberately so, the sort where you let the day close on its own terms rather than trying to extend it. There's a sleep debt that's been quietly accumulating over the past week or two of early starts and later finishes, and tonight felt like the moment to make a token payment against it. Early to bed, then, with the particular satisfaction of a day that had given more than it had asked for. Tomorrow brings the actual birthday, and whatever that decides to hold. Tonight, though, was simply good — unforced, well-fed, and quietly restorative. Exactly the sort of eve a birthday deserves.