The Relentless March of Time

I hates birthdays. I bloody hates them. Why anybody would want to celebrate another year less of life is totally beyond me.

In years gone by when life could be snatched away at any moment, or in a life where the consumption of alcohol at any opportunity were an appealing prospect, perhaps I might feel differently. And to all you who say "Cheer up you miserable sod" I say "On your bike."

Even the world agrees with me. Gone is the sunshine and the beautiful warm weather, replaced by a dull overcast and temperatures which might almost persuade me to put on a pair of long trousers. But does it offer parched Australia the compensation of a little rain? Nah.

I will do my best to be dignified in my non-acknowledgement of my birthday. Nicole is out shopping for me. She is so kind. I expect we will do something nice. I will try to be well-behaved. But my track record on birthdays isn't good.

Still for any of you who feel the need to celebrate on my behalf, feel free. Have a pint for me, or a gin and tonic, if you like. You're more than welcome.

We went to the beach today. Nicole (who is feeling much better after her recent illness) and Eloise went behind the mangroves to see a horse and got burrs and thorns in their feet.