John pretends to ponder this (and definitely does not look smug at being Ianto's wish. Nope, no smugness here, move along.) "Well, let's see. If we go to your Cardiff, we'll probably get caught in an alien invasion. If we go to my London... we're not, so forget it. We could go outside here, but the place has been overrun by sentient jungle and feral dough -- fuckin' Milliways," he snorts. "So long walks on the beach are right out, thank God. That leaves us here. Ordinarily, I'd say a birthday calls for a piss-up, rude behaviour and a monumental hangover. But, ah," he says with a grin, "We just sang that song last week.

"Choice number two: we could skip the preliminaries, go upstairs and shag ourselves stupid. But --" still grinning "-- we plan to do that anyway. Which leaves choice number three: The whole candlelit dinner option. Which'd be a novelty for me, but I'm happy to suffer for the greater good." He cocks his head. "What say you?"