Yes, it’s rolling up like a drunken Santa Claus, half-empty bottle of red wine in one hand, smouldering fag in the other, smelling faintly of wee – the big birthday bash. Well, the not so big birthday bash, but still bigger than any other birthday bash I’ve had since I was about six. Tonight we did that most exciting of Friday evening things and went to Tesco in Inverurie, wild impetuous things that we are, and bought a heap of food and booze for Sunday. We now have enough jelly, ice cream and party nibbles to make a dozen bellybutton innies become outies. So hopefully things should go OK, and if not: screw it, we’ll get bladdered. I’ve got the Monday off work after all and laugh in the face of Madame Hangover. Ha, ha! Just like that (only in a Basil Brush rather than Tommy Cooper kind of way).
She Who Must Be Calmed Down, is boiling over with excitement at the prospect of actually telling someone about the whole writing thing, which is sweet. I however am ramping up to my usual ‘end of year gloom’ where I look back on the last year and bemoan the dreadful lack of any sort of achievement… Oh, wait a minute, NOW I remember: book deals. Ha, ha again! No, wait a minute, I think this time I’ll bring out the big guns and go for a full blown, Bwahahahahahahahahaaaaa! So I’m actually going to be cheerful in the run-up to my birthday for a change. Will wonders never cease?
The only downside to all this will be getting older: though in a way I’m actually getting younger, which is maybe a topic for later. Oh, and the fact that we’ll have to spend Saturday tidying the house, when I’d far rather be writing my shorties for the web site (which is now finished, no thanks to the Cat). Just have to do those next week I suppose.
Going to be bloody weird going back to the office on Tuesday and telling people that I’m going to be a write-ist.