As a Cockney Bingo-caller Might Say of my Weekend Birthday: "There you go matey!""

I can't find much to make it sound nicer - I could say quatre-vingts, or ottanta, or ochenta, or achtzig. I could even say, echoing another bing-caller "Ghandi's breakfast" [translation: "ate nought" or looking down from above on Mahatma Gandhi sitting cross-legged in front of a plate.] TSK!


However it's termed, nothing will change the fact that I shall arrive at the big
Eight-Oh, birthday-wise, on Sunday 27th. I'll arrive not particularly bloody, other than bloody-minded, and not particularly unbowed except for the joint and muscle pains brought on by a pesky medication which will have to be given the old heave-ho.

So, in honour of all the above considerations, I'm giving myself a long weekend off-blog to mark the...erm...event.

“I see birthdays as a reward for having shown up 365 in a row. It's like getting a badge for attendance.”
― Gina Barreca. "If You Lean In, Will Men Just Look Down Your Blouse?": Questions and Thoughts for Loud, Smart Women in Turbulent Times.


“Don't celebrate how old you are, celebrate the years you survived.”
― Touaxia Vang.

Here it is again...

As John Glenn said,
"There is still no cure for the common birthday"
...in which case:

And I'm taking the weekend off! I'll be just a couple of days older when I return - that's my story!

Day Off

I've said it before, I'll say it again: considered logically, there's really no good reason to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, anymore than we should celebrate every sunrise and sunset. It's custom and practice, an excuse to give and receive, just a personal benchmark on the waves of time. Birthdays give us an excuse to eat cake, have a celebratory drink, or do something completely different.....so no blogging for me on my birthday today. I'll be a day older when I return, not a year older - that's my story.