Perfect

I have seen in my 37th year in a gale of laughter and song watching Mr Perfect perform his new show Misanthropology in The Famous Spiegeltent as part of the Sydney Festival. It was bloody fantastic, and he held nothing back, singing about footballers who rape and "self-righteous cyclists in inappropriate pants", among many other things. It was a midnight show with grown-up content to suit - makes a nice change from Playschool and Lah-Lah - and after a beautiful meal of tapas (and several glasses of lovely wine) with my dear friend Sophia, it was the perfect start to my birthday.

And if that's not cause to leap about in front of a prettily lit fountain, I don't know what is.