I had my 36th birthday yesterday
I'm 36.
it's just a number, one below 37, which is apparently the number everyone picks when you say pick a number from 0 to 100. Even cooler than that tho, 37 is Cool Hand Luke's Number in prison.
So, I had a gig, drove up to the burgh on my birthday, had a few nice texts from chums and pals around the globe, reminding me that I have to remember to send my Dad a card as his birthday is next week and I always forget, despite having a handy reminder like a birthday every year.
I would have liked to get loads of pressies, but I would settle for just being happy. In the last six months I split with my girlfriend ( she kept the cats ), had a pretty horrible grievance procedure at work, moved house, and all the usual crap folk have to deal with, maniac clients aside, but all at the same time so it was pretty grim the last wee while in the house of Bunstan.
So last night I had a lot of that in my head, and was really worried about being funny, but I addressed it as soon as I went on, I made some incoherent blurb about being single again, and how the ladies are generally fuct in the head from the gentlemens' perspective, much as I love you in all your infinite guises, I do love female company, but yous are fuct in the head. Anyway so I got it out of my system and it was very funny, and I came off and had a choice word with my pal and comrade Daniel Webster, he'd been on a few comedians before me. So I gave Dan a lift home, then I drove home to Glasgow, and on the way I'm suddenly very very happy, that actually everything is ok, and I really believe it. And I mean BELIEVE it in a conscious way, not my usual happy go lucky way.
So birthday was a success. But generally I'd prefer to be selfish, and not stay sober and drive etc. But get completely steamboats and make romantic overtures to Irish Gypsies in The Buff Club, which is what I did earlier in the week. but that's another story.
