Oh Fuck! It’s My Birthday Again!
It’s my birthday again. A day that’s important to me but no one else. I often wonder if Jesus felt the same way.
‘Hey Judas, do you think anyone will remember me when I’m gone?’
‘I doubt it. But you never know.’
I don’t share a birthday with the son of God, but I do share one with Bing Crosby, James Brown and Michael Palin.
So, close.
Lucky I wasn’t born the day before. Then I’d have shared a birthday with David Beckham, Englebert Humperdinck, and Jimmy White.
Who?
Exactly.
There’s always some dumb feed on the internet these days celebrating some obscure dead personage, writer, scientist, artist, or cleric no one has heard of.
‘Today we’re celebrating the birthday of Margaret of Burgundy, English wife of Charles I, born on 3 May 1446 in Fotheringhay Castle, Northamptonshire, England. Died 1503.’
Damn, I forgot! Margaret of Burgundy! How stupid of me.
Most people forget mine. But as I don’t know many people these days, that’s no big deal: This year I’ll be celebrating it with my wife, a cat and eight chickens.
When you’re young, it seems the whole street comes round with presents, jelly, custard and balloons…
