Bloody Nora, it's my one hundredth post!

Because of this mini-milestone I have decided that this will not be a ranting, moany post. No no. On the contrary. This is a mini-celebration.

While I was sat in someone's garden last night enjoying a chat and a cigarette, I saw two shooting stars. In London. I mean, to see a shooting star is pretty hard work, but to see two, in one night, in London? That's pretty bloody special. And it got me thinking about some stuff that I have a tendency to forget when I feel a little battered by life and love and the universe.

I am blessed with some good guys in my life. Friends who offer me honesty and support and humour and sympathy. Tireless individuals who can share a joke, or lend me a shoulder and a strong back. Who I can call at 4am with a minor catastrophe or an hilarious anecdote, who I can rely on to sacrifice some of their holiday to take time off work and come get me from hospital after an operation.

I don't know if I tell them enough just how much I love having them around. Or how much they mean to me. But I thank my lucky stars for them. I reckon if you look hard enough, when you catch them unaware you can just about see the feathered tips of their white wings unfurling.

And moreover, it's not just these guys who I am thankful for. People will never cease to amaze me. Being a hardened Londoner I tend to find it easy to forget how kind people can be. But I love the fact that random acts of kindness do still happen, and they happen when I'm least expecting it, that it's quite often people who hardly know me and that every time it happens, it still bowls me over.

Because I'd hate to take that for granted.

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