Happy birthday me.

Thirty freakin' seven.

Chest infection meant I was bedbound by 9.15 last night, up at 8.30 this morning feeling better but still chewing a lung. Birthdays are not something I get too worked up about, not since last year anyway, so today will include a trip to Merry Hill, a walk of the dog, a pub meal, some chocolates and a quiet drink with Liz.

Then, this afternoon...I'll make it up as I go along.

Still waiting for details on when we can move, no exchange date as yet, currently on hold to the solicitor now, ears seeping from a "pan pipe" "cover" "version" of "When you're in love with a beautiful woman", setting me up for Michael Ballcock's "Love changes stuff". Like gunk never happened.