I'm exhausted. Physically and mentally exhausted. Like, oh-dear-lord-i-may-sleep-under-my-desk exhausted. I've just returned to work after the most splendid birthday weekend of adventures, all organised by the magnificent Dr B. A few highlights:

  • Watching Danny Boyle's Frankenstein, at City Screen, beamed in live from the National Theatre using a complex system of mirrors or something. A damn good show, and further proof that Benedict Cumberbatch really is quite a gifted actor. A little annoyed that the people who arrange these things still insist on ruining the atmosphere by putting a making-of featurette before the show (although it's an improvement on the Metropolitan Opera's habit of interviewing the cast during the intervals, as if it's a sporting event or something).

  • Breakfast in bed – what better way to start your birthday than with bacon and eggs amongst a pile of lovely presents?

  • A rather nice lunch with my folks at the Blueprint Café, followed by a wander around the Design Museum and a quick spin with my dad.

  • Sipping on an Old Fashioned at Detroit in Covent Garden, followed by the rather dangerous drunken discovery that Fopp is open late. I somehow resisted buying everything and settled on the tradition Foppery of a CD (Saint Etienne's Finisterre), a DVD (Speed – Dr B has never seen it!) and a book (Joe Haldeman's The Forever War) for a tenner.

  • TEDx. So many fascinating speakers, so many ideas, so much temptation to use the cliche "a rollercoaster of emotions". I feel like my view of the world has been broadened significantly, I have a renewed hunger for learning stuff. Plus I've now breathed the same air as Jude Law, so I feel 10% more handsome (and Dr B is forgiven for yelping when he appeared, because she also yelped at Vivienne Westwood). Hopefully the Observer will organise another TED event next year – it'll definitely be added to our annual cultural events diary alongside Latitude Festival and Summer Screen at Somerset House. After a long day of having our brains tickled, we had a swift drink with Daniel and Cecilia at the stunning St Pancras Renaissance hotel. How stunning? Well, a night in the royal suite will set you back £10,000. That stunning.

  • A jolly housewarming party in Greenwich (mostly involving people from York, rather bizarrely), under the watchful eye of the big big moon. You can't beat frozen pizza, home-made rosé, Chemical Brothers and the company of great friends.

  • A hungover Sunday of shopping and sitting and watching stuff. I picked up my annual supply of Uniqlo jeans, picked up Forbidden Planet's last copy of Haunted Knight (thanks to Loz for the recommendation) and finally got my mitts on issue one of Port magazine at Magma. It smells as lovely as I'd hoped, and the actual content is pretty good too.

So, thank you Dr B, thank you London. Time to catch up on this weekend's Forbrydelsen and get some sleep methinks. Lots and lots of sleep.