It wasn’t as if she paid a whole lot of attention to the day in general, but nevertheless it did call for a celebration of sorts. Crawling out from under her duvet on a cold and blustery morning, she got herself the usual steaming cuppa to clear the remnants of drowse and thought about the day. Maybe do some baking – a cake, or does she extend herself and get into something more complicated? She turns on the music and lets her mind wander to nowhere in particular. At least it’s a holiday and there would be no having to interact with the folk at work all day – a definite plus.

The telephone rings – it’s the folk back home calling to convey love and best wishes and telling her how much they miss her. She flashes back to those childhood days when birthdays had a lot more significance – from the early childhood parties through to those teenage years and finally to her present set of circumstances, where a major shift in values didn’t leave room for a sentimental celebration of the occasion, except for those few and far between exceptions which were more often determined by circumstances rather than by choice.

But celebrate, she must – it’s just one of those things, she says to herself. The music brings her back – it’s Counting Crows and Adam Durwitz’s plaintive wail penetrates her haze…

…..Round here she’s always on my mind
Round here hey man got lots of time
Round here we’re never sent to bed early
And nobody makes us wait
Round here we stay up very, very, very, very late
I can’t see nothing, nothing round here
Catch me if I’m falling….

Maybe a glass of red before breakfast – just to set the pace as it were – and to get the day off to a sound start. And birthday celebration or not, she will get ‘smashingly drunk’ tonight.

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