I’m 61 years old today. I’d forgotten about it but people appear determined to remind me. There are a string of messages on Facebook and one or two said, “have fun.” Fun? To paraphrase Fawlty, “I remember that, but I gave it up years ago.”
I also gave up counting birthdays a long time ago, mainly because unless there’s a £ sign involved, I can’t count that far.
Her Indoors never forgets a birthday and she’s bought me a present. A new skirt and top from Dorothy Perkins. The gift tags reads, “I hope you get as much use out of this as I did that 148 piece Bosch Hammer Drill you bought me on my birthday.”
She also bought me the DVD of Twister, starring Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton. Her Indoors said the movie reminds her of me. “It’s all about strong wind,” she said.
So how will I spend this auspicious day? In a little while I’m off to Tesco where I will moan about the prices and all the other old gits who get in my way. It shows you how slow they are when I’m overtaking them.
Then I shall do a little work on 100 Stories for Queensland where I’ll probably have another moan at those who send in poetry when we don’t want it.
I’ll then follow up with work on my series of novellas and no doubt I’ll find something else to moan about, like the cost of plasma fuel in the 31st century.
But it’s tonight I’m really looking forward to. Her Indoors has promised to do something really special for me.
She’s gonna shut up and let me read in peace.