I go kind of up and down on birthdays. Some years I don’t care, some I actively despise, and others I look forward to. A bit. (Quite like a spot of cake; can’t abide parties.)

I do forget what age I am, though. After 30, someone seems to stamp on the accelerator. I’m still getting used to not being 30-something any more, and I’ll be 45 next month. I’ve started thinking of things being “only” 20 years ago. It’s terrifying.

Best not to think about it. Stupid birthdays.

Oh. Er. Happy birthday, by the way.