39 - it's official

Well I am now officially 39 and I'm pleased to say that I'm not feeling bad atall. The same as ever really. Thanks to those of you who sent me birthday good wishes, I was very honoured and touched. I had a nice day yesterday with Gustavo - we both took the day off work and took it easy, although there was the slight problem of a leaking kitchen ceiling to fix. However I'm pleased to say that it got sorted pretty promptly. The estate agents who are selling the flat upstairs sent a plumber round forthwith who was able to pinpoint the problem - leaking pipe underneath the floorboards which was dripping down from above into the kitchen. Anyway the drippage has now stopped although the wallpaper has done the clasic thing of peeling away from the ceiling - so I will see if I can get someone to foot the bill to fix it!

Rest of the day we went shopping in Croydon and I treated myself to some new togs - jeans and some groovy retro t-shirts and a few DVDs. As for presents, my hubbie got me a groovy summer jacket and zip up top from Top Man. Apparently I'm due something else but it hasn't turned up in the post yet. How exciting! Late afternoon we had nice meal and some wine at home and just took it easy. Birthdays should come round more often! (Without the growing old part, I should add...)

Oh and my father - who lives over in Amsterdam and is delightfully eccentric, not to say creative - wrote and emailed me this poem:

Dear Simon,
It's the 17th today

And I'd just like to say,
That you're looking rather grey.

Were you celebrating yesterday

Or just practising for Monday,

-Was that a yeah or a nay?

Cheesy pomes are now my style,

(but beware an excess of bile),

You may find them cringingly vile

And want to run an hundred mile.
PS. Of loot I have no pile,

So I'll send you a bathroom tile;

It's a cloggy one with a naughty picture

I'm hoping it will become a fixture,
And yearly tiles'll add to the mixture,

Many Bacchanalian scenes to titillate yer,
And of course the frequent visitor,

Hopefully not a detective inspector.

I'll stop this now coz I'm beginning to cringe,

Yer father needs a bit of minge,

He's older than you, and cannot binge

His hair's an even greyer tinge

And he's far too fond of the endless whinge,

Beware the 39 candles, thats one hell of a singe!

Isn't he clever? A bloody masterpiece eh?! (Even if the second line in the final verse is rather naughty...!)