I used to like birthdays and now it seems I don't. It started last year and continues and I have no explanation for it other than age. It is mine today and I mainly spent it sulking in the attic. This is the kind of thing my mother would have lovingly and firmly slapped me down about, the birthday sulking.
I look lovely for 68, so it's a shame I am 39. I have a large spot on my nose, eye cream induced pink eye, pronounced jowls and have been suffering from recurring attacks of vertigo/dizziness.
You have to google a really long way before you find a scary reason for attacks of vertigo/dizziness. They all seem to be ear related. Dull, but non-fatal, which is a relief.
My family have amused me considerably. L gave me a card he had made detailing the many evils of quinoa:
Prog Rock gave me a second hand short story anthology and a CD of carols (?). F has taught me how to say "Who is the master of the small dog? I am the master of the small dog" in Chinese (very difficult, you basically say five variants of the same word at one point). My sister got me a very sweet teeny weeny clay nativity, because she knows my fatal weakness for Christmas stuff:
I also got a Flemish trucking birthday card (tag line "Nu ben jij de MAN", now you're the MAN) and BINOCULARS. Oh, how the Wanstead Birder, he who coined this blog's tag line, will laugh. I did actually ask for the binoculars: I am too shortsighted and eye-strainy to see the tiny brown birds in the back yard properly and I want to. What? Shut up. I'm sixty eight, you know.
We have been to the Chalet Robinson (restaurant on island in the lake in Brussels park, accessible by weeny ferry) for chips and salted caramel sundaes, as birthday tradition demands. Look how pretty it looks in the dark:
The geese were particularly vicious, roaming around in a pack, honking and aiming for tender calves.
Apart from the on-the-day sulking, everything is fine, really. I know this probably sounds a bit grudging, but I'm quite suspicious of professions of domestic contentment and personal/professional fulfillment, because obviously they summon certain disaster in their wake. So, sssh. I'm ok. Don't wake the kraken.