Birthday Wishes.

It isn’t my birthday any more. It stopped about an hour ago. I waited all day for somebody to say ‘many happy returns,’ but nobody did. I had a card which said it, though, so I suppose that’s OK. I also had a miniature malt scotch and a box of twelve small Belgian chocolates. I like Belgian chocolates a lot; they take the confectioner’s art to an enhanced level, and are superior to any other expression of the chocolatier’s skill that I’ve ever experienced. I just had a lemon and coconut one, which was quite splendid.

Hey ho.

Pity the car chose to throw a wobbler on the fast stretch of the dual carriageway today and is going to need some attention, but I suppose you can’t have everything. And it's a pity the cheap shop had sold all its short-lived stock of Guinness Foreign Extra, but the Ben Nevis 10-year-old single malt is well up to the task of affording compensation.

I didn’t get many visits from America today either. I suppose that was because everybody was too busy consuming all those millions of poor birds that didn’t get pardoned by the President.

Ironically, last night I heard a piece of music which taught me what the phrase ‘loving life’ means. I’ve always wondered, and now I know. It was quite a moment, as you might imagine. And since it’s sort of still my birthday (since I was born at 5.05 am on the morning of November 28^th,) I’m going to indulge the ultimate presumption of sharing the sort of music I’m wont to listen to loudly through the headphones in the early hours of the morning, just in case anybody’s interested. I can’t think of any reason why anybody should be, but just in case.

Many happy returns to me.