You don’t expect presents when you get to my age.
Let me re-phrase that: you tell your loved ones: ‘I don’t expect presents when I get to my age.’
And there was a moment, on the occasion of my 48th birthday yesterday, when I wondered if my ‘expectations’ had been realised.
Monday morning was frantic as usual. Heaving our creaking carcasses out of the bed, yelling at the kids to heave theirs out of theirs, then trying to get all three of them breakfasted, washed, dressed, out of the door and into school, while they were all doing fine impersonations of the Walking Dead.
So by the time I got home from the school run, I suddenly reaised that:
a) it was my birthday, and
b) I didn’t have a single card or present from my family.
Well, poor me, poor me, pour me another drink.
Such is life in the Fast Lane.
But I ain’t stoopid.
I know all good things come to he who waits.
And the second my wife walked through the door from work, my waiting was over.
The kids leapt on me like it was Christmas, and as they frantically helped me tear open my gifts, I felt like all my birthdays had come at once.
From my wife: A knife. A Tojiro Japanese Vegetable Knife, to be precise. Something I’ve coveted for two years.
From my wife: A very slimming, dark blue, fitted shirt, which tucks my gut in all the right places.
From the kids: A DVD box set – Seinfeld 9, the Final Season. The only one missing from my collection.
And from my good friends Dan and Nicky: The World Cheese Book, featuring 750 cheeses.
And from me, for dinner: Wagyu steak with thrice-cooked chips and Stilton mushrooms.
It was a very happy birthday. Thank you for all your wishes on my blog and on Twitter.