And Then It Was All Me, Me, Me….

Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday dear mee ee,
Happy birthday to me.

Why? Why ‘happy’ birthday? One year less, one year closer to uncontrollable dribbling – wait a minute! What’s that dripping on the key board? Oh. Anyway, one more year closer to lights out. So what’s so happy about that then? Sad. Now that I can relate to.

Saddy birthday to me then.

Okay, I’m getting old, but man, I’m gunna, like, totally loose it if I get just one more pair incontinent pants!! Reade above again; It’s bibs I need, okay? Hang on just a minute there! What’s that on the sofa? Damn.

What do I remember about being borne so close to Christmas? Absolutely nothing. I was way too young.

Later, I remember the folks asking each year if I’d like two small presents, one birthday and one Christmas, or just the one big present to cover both events.

Tricky choice and I have to say I was pretty damn slow figuring out that whichever I chose, the result was much the same with, as I remember, no discernable difference between the one big or either of the two small of the previous year.

I believe one big or two small was just down to very cleaver grown-ups wrapping trickery to make the one big look bigger than either of the two small jobbies. Bless ‘em. Never mind, there was always fun to be had with packaging. Even before bubble wrap…

Looking back, do I feel I was cheated? Of course not. Unwrapping every package, regardless of size, was an exciting, spine tingling adventure and every gift a delight. From a small box of lead soldiers, “Oh wow!” to a tangerine, “Ahh! What is it?”, it was all pure magic.

As I got a tad older I do remember rummaging below the Christmas tree, before the big day, to find that expected and all important parcel. It was oblong, flattish and easily bendable. If that was there, all was well with the world – I had my new Giles cartoon annual……

Anyhoo, another year older; think I’ll round the day off with a Drambuie shandy. Or a mug of Horlicks. Or two. I’ve got the pants now. And as it’s the Winter Sauce taste, or some such, here you go, you sad ol’ hippies;

Quote; Branch Rickey.

“First you forget names; then you forget faces; then you forget to zip up your fly; then you forget to un-zip your fly.”