Happy birthday to me

I turned exactly 37 in the last hour and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

That's a lie, actually. I'm not pleased, not pleased at all. Indeed, the only small comfort is that 38 is now the official middle age for a man in this country so I can still classify myself as young for another 12 months - even if no-one else agrees.

People, as ever, have been very kind to me.

My mum's come up with the most surreal gift - a hammock, which I'm very pleased about (if just a little unnerved).

As well, as clothes, Vanessa revealed that she's taking her boys for a special trip to Blackpool Pleasure Beach this weekend including an overnight stop. I LOVE Blackpool Pleasure Beach so can't wait for that.

And Jamie bought me some pants and the new Lily Allen CD. Apparently he's already heard the album the whole way through and is suitably proud of his purchase. However, goodness knows what he made of Track 8, the somewhat creatively titled "F*ck You."

Grandad Geoff is due here any moment now to look after him for the night whilst the special boy (that's me, by the way, for just a few more hours) and Mrs W head round the corner to eat curry, drink beer, talk loudly and then regret it all at around 2.10am when Jamie wakes up.

Still, that's ages away so, between now and then, here's to ME!