Well, wasn't that a right old laugh. Or, perhaps more accurately, a right old cry into a very large glass of wine. Turning the big six-oh last week was supposed to be a momentous occasion. A landmark birthday, a proper knees-up, surrounded by all the wonderful people who've made my life so rich and, let's be honest, often utterly chaotic. I’d sent out the invites weeks ago – lovely little cards, even splashed out on some fancy stamps. My vision? A room full of laughter, bad dancing, and perhaps a slightly off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday." The reality? Crickets. And a very sad-looking cake.

I'd meticulously planned the nibbles, even tried my hand at those fiddly little sausage rolls. The prosecco was chilled to perfection, the playlist curated with all the cheesy pop classics you could ever wish for. I even bought a new dress, a sparkly number that I thought screamed "party queen." At 7 PM, the designated start time, I was buzzing with anticipation. 7:15 PM, still buzzing, but with a tiny hum of unease. 7:30 PM, the hum was getting louder, bordering on a full-blown roar of panic. And then, at 8 PM, as the silence in my living room became deafening, the brutal truth dawned on me: nobody was coming. Not a soul.

In the beginning

Now, before you start picturing me a complete social pariah, let me assure you, I have friends! Lots of them, in fact. Or so I thought. My phone, usually a constant companion, remained stubbornly silent. No "Running five minutes late, love!" texts, no "Stuck in traffic!" calls. Just…nothing. I tried to rationalise it. Maybe there was a mass alien invasion that only affected my postcode? Perhaps everyone had simultaneously decided to join a silent retreat? Or, the most likely and most painful option, they all just… forgot.

It was a truly bizarre experience, sitting there with my perfectly coiffed hair and sparkly dress, feeling utterly bewildered. I mean, you see this sort of thing in films, don't you? The plucky protagonist facing some minor social humiliation that's eventually resolved by a grand gesture. But this was real life, and the only grand gesture was me, alone, cutting a slice of cake for one. "It was quite humbling, actually," I found myself muttering to my bewildered dog, Angus, who, bless his heart, seemed genuinely concerned. He even licked away a rogue tear. What a good boy.

Of course, the next day, the phone started to ping. "So sorry, Lorraine, completely slipped my mind!" "Oh no, I thought it was next weekend!" "My goldfish spontaneously combusted!" Okay, maybe not that last one, but you get the picture. A flurry of excuses, some more believable than others. And while I appreciate the apologies, there's still a lingering sting. It makes you wonder, doesn't it? In this mad dash of modern life, are we all just a bit too busy to remember the milestones that truly matter?

Learnings & growth

So, what did I learn from my solitary soirée? Well, for one, I now have enough leftover sausage rolls to feed a small army. More importantly, it was a stark reminder that even for someone who spends their life chatting on telly, connection is key. And perhaps, next year, I'll just book a table for one at my favourite restaurant. At least then, I'm guaranteed good food, good wine, and the only person I'll be disappointed by is myself if I don't order dessert. And let’s be honest, that’s highly unlikely!