Mikko blamed a helluva lot on being a gemini. He revelled in having similarly-mad-cap gemini friends (although he did concede that we aquarians are the nutcase inventors of the Zodiac), and despaired occasionally that his birthday, which fell at the start of summer each year back in finland, was in Melbourne cloaked with grey and chilly 'brrrr'.
Mikko's birthdays usually meant a gorgeous dinner out somewhere (one at Toofey's springs to mind where I tasted my first Margaux,and Paris Go), and drinks with mates (the night at Dante's, where Glennee met my mum for the first time and, not knowing she was my mum, demanded I give him her phone number, was a classic).
His 30th in Hong Kong remains one of the most 'extremes of everything' trips ever: god and mammon; tradition and consumerism; honour and contempt; privilege and abuse; rampant pollution and the best king prawns I ever tasted.
The sense of occasion, however, never waivered. I was never good at throwing parties or hosting gatherings, Mikko revelled in them.
This year, he would have been 36. I marked it with Khrystene, who just so happened to be visting from Poland this weekend. We didn't plan it that way, but obviously, it was supposed to happen.
Hyvää syntymäpäivää Mikko.
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<3
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