I’m supposed to be of an age where I’m either a curmudgeon about birthdays or I pretend they don’t happen.
Happily this is not the case, and I’m merrily resisting the urge to wax on about passing time, feeling old and the inevitable decline of my physical and mental resources.
Let’s face it I’ll have enough of that from other people today and if I listened to other peoples expectations I’d still be a right mess, rocking in a corner somewhere or quietly pushing up daisies.
Instead I’m happy, doing things I enjoy, and taking the time to look round for the next piece of chaos to take advantage of.
Sod being 40, that was so last year. I’m 41 now.
