image: creative paper wales.co.uk
I turned 37 on monday, as anyone on Facebook will know, and a week later I've not come to terms with it yet.
Which is odd. Some one once told me that if you got up this morning, it's already a good day, and he was right. So I got older, but that's to be celebrated.
Except that, as you know, I'm stuck in the past. My life ain't great at present, and every time I look at methods to improve this, people invariably require money to assist in getting out of the great rut I've lodged myself firmly into. So it's only to be expected, then, that I look to happier times, and happier birthdays.
Hm. Happier birthdays? I've been recapping some of the birthdays I've had in the past, and some have definitely being better than others. 18, I spent with family having a pub meal, which was pleasant if not exciting. 21, the family came round again, and everyone had a jolly time, I believe. 19, I vaguely remember the drunken, and exceptionally embarrassing (and ultimately, unsuccessful - unsurprisingly, really; I'm amazed I escaped without a slap, or twenty) attempts of making 'friends' with a work colleague. Oooooooh lordy, that still makes me shiver.
13, now that was a laugh. Bonfire night with some kids from school, highlights being 'Briggsy' stepping backwards onto a rocket and watching the sellotape-repaired projectile almost blow up next door's house, and the unintended (and deeply upsetting) destruction of my collection of painted Airfix WW2 fighter planes, in 1:72 scale. The day culminating in a gunfight with various toy guns, firing projectiles of disk/sucker dart variety.
17 was the first birthday I don't particularly recall getting excited about. I remember getting up, and not being fussed, getting ready and going out without any real celebration or inclination to do so. At all. Ironically, my 17th birthday was also the day the Berlin wall came down, so perhaps it's not surprising the entire day paled into insignificance.
30, I spent a weekend in a B&B in Wharfedale, which was fantastic, so much so we went back for my wife's 30th. Hers was more memorable, due to the whole of the dales being flooded; we almost didn't make it back to the b&b, but it sticks in the brain and provided some good pictures.
22. The university had organised buses to London, at £4 a head, so we could all attend a student march. So we went to London, and ignored the march to have a day in the capital. For £4. Most enjoyable.
And that's it. No other birthdays stick in the head, or stand out, sadly. Which suggests I'm either boring, or don't do anything exciting anymore, or both. Someone else once told me (a French teacher, as I recall) that life is like a bar of Galaxy. 8 chunks, 10 years a chunk, and that's it. Well, I'm 3 years off my 4th chunk, so I'd better start getting ready for 40!
Anyway. To end the week, and try and cheer me up a bit (!) here's a video. The obvious one would be Stevie Wonder singing his birthday greetings to Nelson Mandela, but that's boring and obvious and I'd much rather be reminded of Clare Grogan in her prime, so enjoy, courtesy of Youtube.