“Oh my god – I’m so old!” she gasped, clutching harder on to the string holding a pink helium-filled balloon with 30 written on it. “It’s crazy!”

The apartment was full of people I hadn’t seen for years and it was great fun to have a talk with them again. Big O kept demonstrating how he was tall enough to touch the ceiling, as usual. Also, according to tradition, the whole group kept chanting for M to finally ask M to marry him. H was there, or was he really? We took a bunch of photos which I was tasked to stitch together. And there was a slideshow with old embarrassing photos on the TV, including a couple of shots from when I lived in Warsaw seven years ago – and met Bumbi for the first time.

At some point during the evening I found the coco-chocolate-pink-cream thingies. *pause for drooling* (Daj mi ten przepis!)

We went to Privé, the place where we all used to dance as 16-year olds and which reopened a couple of months ago. For old time’s sake. The music was mostly perfect, the atmosphere became ours and the balloons joined us all the way. I checked out at 4am to drive a friend home, but as far as I know, the party ended as much as two hours later – which I find very impressive for being in Malmö – and a very clear and indisputable argument for the fact that Bumbi really isn’t old at all.

Your age is in your head, kochana – thank you for a great party!