It’s My Birthday and I’ll Cry If I Want To…

The silent assasin this morning broke silence over a cup of Bali coffee to point out that I’m now closer to 40 than 20. Yep, 31 today, although I like to think that the fact that my mental age is much younger (some people call it being ‘immature’) and the fact that i still can’t grow a proper beard means I’m actually much younger and this has all just been some kind record-keeping mix-up on account of my mum and/or Crowborough Hospital in East Sussex.

It’s pissing down with rain this morning in Surf City, France. The Punto had her wipers on the whole way here as she sadly yet nobly made her way through large puddles. It’s a public holiday in Europe today so at least there were no minging lorries on the autoroute (they’re banned on holidays/sundays in France). The evil X just sent me a birthday text… nothing an ‘options’-‘delete’-‘yes’ can’t handle…

Laurel just rung in (he’s ill today) ’31 and still captain minger’ I believe was the quote. He also scolded me for deciding to stay in and watch the Champion’s League tonight instead of going ‘to Spain’. Spain can wait till thursday.

Did I mention it’s still raining…?


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