And welcome to a slightly delayed blog post!
There are reasons for the just over 24 hour delay to the usual posting schedule. Of course there are. Good reasons. Valid reasons. And only one of those reasons has anything to do with alcohol.
All right then, maybe two.
Let me explain.
Hair Today
Since last we met, I have aged. I don’t just mean in the metaphorical sense. It’s not that things have been all that busy. The stresses of life have caused no extra wrinkles on my unfurrowed brow, or any new grey hairs to sprout up in my somewhat tattered hairline.
No, I am merely referring to yet another birthday having passed me by. Another year of successfully not dying.
It was a bit of a strange occasion if I’m honest. The birthday in question wasn’t a big one. My brand new age doesn’t end in a zero or a five, and it doesn’t open up any new avenues regarding bus-fares or TV licences (I’m not quite that old yet).
It was still a day to mark, however, and that’s where the strangeness lie.
A Piece Of Quiet
A normal birthday would mean going out. It would mean meeting up with family, chatting to friends, and maybe popping out for a delightful meal with the Mrs. It would mean celebrating.
Now I’m not going to sit here and tell you the day went completely without any kind of celebration. On the whole, though, it was a significantly quieter day than pretty much any I can remember.
My local area of Kirklees is back in a stricter Covid-19 related lock-down. This means that meeting up with people outside one’s own household is back to being restricted to outdoors and at a distance of two metres or greater (apart from shop and pubs, of course. We wouldn’t want to offend the great gods of capitalism). This, mixed with my own reluctance to take even the mildest of risks while this disease still runs so rampant, ruled out going to my parents to meet up with family, or even to collect cards.
My wife, Tina, I’m happy to report, still lives with me and therefore counts as being in my immediate household which meant I could spend the day with her which, all-in-all, is still a more than decent way to spend a day. Or at least it would be, if said wife hadn’t had to go to work for the twelve hours between eight am and eight pm.
Me Time
All of which serves to illustrate why I spent the bulk of my birthday alone (aww), and why I couldn’t open the bottle of Jack Daniels I’d bought in until I’d picked Tina up at 8pm (double aaaaawww).
I kept myself busy, of course. Not with any amount of housework, which I flat-out refused to do (I do not work on international Mark Rankin day. Never have . Never will). There was still the X-Box, though, and the boxing game I’d recently downloaded. There was still the laptop and the myriad wonders of the internet (no, nothing like that). There was still TV and the promise of a brainless action film Tina wouldn’t watch in six straight months of Mondays. There were still the well wishes of friends and family to peruse, both those sent on social media, and those delivered by telephone.
TV Dinner
The undoubted highlight of the day was when I rescued Tina from workiness and we could celebrate properly with a lovely Italian meal delivered to the door, the liberal application of some chocolate, and yours truly getting ridiculously drunk (now that’s how you celebrate).
All in all, it was a good night. The booze flowed, the food was excellent (thank-you Capri); the company was world class, and the chocolate was, well, chocolate-y. We even finished the series of Hustle we’ve been watching and completely avoided Tina’s televisual preferences of ambulance chasing and Australians marrying strangers (no, I don’t get it either).
So, yeah, pretty decent really. Why, you might ask, am I complaining then? Well, in truth I’m not. Not really. The day just felt weird in some way. It felt un-birthday-y. It was as if options had been taken away from me. Not all of them options I might have indulged, but it would have been nice to have had the, well… option, if you know what I mean.
Not Out
I’m not alone in this year being strange when it comes to these occasions, and I’m not selfish enough to put myself up there as having the worst or strangest time of it, because I’m not. I still managed to have a fantastic, if somewhat subdued day, and I didn’t have to deal with any of the horrors which no doubt haunted at least some special days.
Maybe that’s part of it. Part of the feeling of oddness. Maybe it’s celebrating another year of life when so many of us have been denied that opportunity. Or maybe I’m just saying that as some kind of justification. I’m not sure.
All I do know is that given the current pandemic and my complete unsuitability for it, another year chalked off is no mean feat and it most definitely something to be celebrated.
Birthdays can last a week, right?
Until next time…
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