Yes, another year older, and possibly another year wiser. Another year closer to death, certainly, although I like to think of that as being rather a long way off, and really not worth worrying about. That said, I don't really do birthdays, as I never know what I want, don't like having a fuss made of it (except when I unpredictably feel like it) and tend to have fairly simple needs anyway.
Fortunately, Ros is a pretty astute judge of her bureaucrat, and it was agreed that apart from the gift bit, and a nice dinner for two at home, Sunday was going to be a fairly normal day. So, I was left to sleep in for a while, before being presented with two books of railway maps - is there anything better than the prospect of travel?
We'd been away visiting my family the previous day, so food shopping was necessary, and we headed to Ipswich. My personal priority was cheese, as my lunchtime treat was to be my first cheese sandwich for five months. The cheese has been sacrificed in the cause of my diet (coming along quite nicely, thank you very much) and has been occasionally stressful. I have been known to hallucination a cheese sandwich at times, which is not something you want to witness in a grown adult.
A lovely afternoon followed, with two cheese sandwiches, a nice walk in the countryside, spotting deer and a kestrel, and some gentle pottering around before dinner. Dinner was belly pork (with crackling, naturally), roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and vegetables (apparently, they're part of a balanced diet), with a bottle of champagne to wash it gently down.
So, all in all, a pretty good day. I should thank everyone for their kind words and greetings, my family for their generous gifts, and life generally. And now, I really ought to get on with year forty-eight. Perhaps a nap first, though...