As the intensity of pace quickens at work with the struggle to make law in the face of massive roadblocks being hurled into our path, so too have I not made any time to provide you the reader with any sort of update for a few days.

Well, I’m officially thirty three years old as of last Thursday. For once, I didn’t get the standard question “do you feel thirty three?” Which I do, of course, not having any other frame of reference. If I had to evaluate the day properly, I’d say it was definitely mine…for want of another term. The day began just after midnight when the first gift in a fluffy red-handbag shaped gift bag was waved threateningly in my direction. It’s the sort of bag that a drag queen might use in part of their act. Inside was a shirt, a new wallet, a gag gift of sandpaper (for wrinkles) and a red velvet cupcake. Though it was tempting to devour it then and there, I was able to resist but that was more in defiance of the cat-calls.

My bowels forced me to get out of bed early and I decided to officially get up and use the extra time in order to go to Sainsbury’s for the usual calorie fest. Whilst the day before I’d scooped up a tonne of yellow stickered pastries in Tesco on Dean Street (Pain au chocolat, Danish pastries & assorted doughnuts), Thursday it was the turn of the name branded treats. With a shrewd hat on, I went for everything that was two-for-one in order to bulk up.

Alas my efforts were in vain; everyone was so blimmin’ polite (or on a diet) and refused to eat more than a nibble. I struggled to get rid of the baked goods so we didn’t get to start on the rest of the stuff which I took home on Friday. There were a nice selection of cards and Jackie & Rachel had bought me lots of chocolate (I think they want me to crack). And there were the usual assortment of birthday messages on my PC and they streamed in on my phone. Though I’m going to record here on this blog that NONE of the Yoshi’s Island lot texted/rang/messaged. I’ve applied the appropriate guilt trips and hopefully there’s enough shame to go around.

At lunchtime, I took myself down to the new Mexican snack bar on Wilton Road and had a Fajita. Correction; I ordered a fajita, they gave me a burrito. But it tasted great and I knew that the jalapenos were just asking for trouble about 10-12 hours later…didn’t care. So munching through my £5.50 “sammich”, I walked towards Victoria, through the station and had the Eunice Parchman-like urge to go towards St Barnabus, Chelsea Barracks and to do that loop. As always, I lingered by the Dale Rogers store to gawp at the beautifully polished crystal formations and the giant fossils – note to self, if I win the lottery, stay away from this shop. And then I walked around Chelsea barracks noticing that Broom and Butler House still stood though many of the military buildings had been crushed. Looping around the barracks, I went towards Ebury Bridge Road and took the back streets towards the office. Having had one nostalgia trip, I had an unexpected second after I found myself walking past the Sussex Street play centre…

So there was reflection and introspection had. The rest of the afternoon was quiet and uneventful. I had hoped to leave early but the balance of work conspired against me and left at the usual time. Had an extended walk but didn’t feel like popping into the usual places, instead going to the Sainsbury’s in Stratford a second time and scooping up a bunch of yellow-stickered items – mostly jacket potato skins with sour cream dip for less than a third of the retail price. And then went home. At midnight, I decided to extend the guilt trip plan to the housemates who’d also let my birthday go by unmarked…I don’t ask for much but ignore March 1st at your peril.

So that was Smarch 1st (not quite the thirteenth day of the thirteenth month). I’d carry on through the weekend but think it better to terminate the post here and start another one.

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