I was serenaded with 'the birthday song' a record-breaking 5 times this weekend:-
The story of my birthday itself is a pretty boring tale of recovery and celebration. Although I was almost a goner when, soon after exiting the shower, I slipped on the wet floor and had an almighty fall on the rock hard floor. Happily, I can report that no limbs were broken but that didn't stop me wishing myself an incredibly sarcastic "Happy Birthday AJ", whilst lying naked and prone on the floor.
My favourite gift of the day was a bunch of red roses from Joel. Probably the first and last time i'll ever receive flowers and I may well just be saying this to try and win the 'difficult' metrosexual vote, but I find it refreshing that we live in a day and age where a man can buy another man flowers and not be chased down the street by an angry Yorkshireman.
Also, my mum wanted to send me some sort of care package and asked me if there was anything in particular I wanted or needed. I panicked a bit and asked for a single pot of marmite but, in hindsight, I don't regret the decision. I know for sure that India isn't quite ready for Bovril yet.
Incidentally, the club we went to was bizarrely named Chipstead. Take your pick as to whether it was named after the Chipstead with a population of 6,000 in Surrey or the 'almost a hamlet' Chipstead in Kent.
- At school. 8/10. Second verse curveball of 'Happy Long Life To You' added a bit of spice to proceedings.
- In the children's hostel that I live below. 7/10. I had water in my ears so couldn't hear a great deal.
- At birthday dinner. 5/10. Most were giving a repeat performance so everyone seemed to be going through the motions a bit by that point. Fair enough.
- At a club. 9/10. I turned 22 whilst in the club and, in my memory at least, it seemed as if the whole room was singing it to me. The truth may be a little harsher but, as history has proved, everyone is much happier living a lie.
- With a stonking great hangover in bed. 1/10 for enjoyment. 10/10 for the gesture. The Swedish people I live with marched (that makes them sound like Germans) into the room at a very kind 2pm, performing (that makes them sound like ABBA) the Swedish version of the birthday song. I can't remember exactly, but it sounds a little like 'The Grand Old Duke of York'.
The story of my birthday itself is a pretty boring tale of recovery and celebration. Although I was almost a goner when, soon after exiting the shower, I slipped on the wet floor and had an almighty fall on the rock hard floor. Happily, I can report that no limbs were broken but that didn't stop me wishing myself an incredibly sarcastic "Happy Birthday AJ", whilst lying naked and prone on the floor.
My favourite gift of the day was a bunch of red roses from Joel. Probably the first and last time i'll ever receive flowers and I may well just be saying this to try and win the 'difficult' metrosexual vote, but I find it refreshing that we live in a day and age where a man can buy another man flowers and not be chased down the street by an angry Yorkshireman.
Also, my mum wanted to send me some sort of care package and asked me if there was anything in particular I wanted or needed. I panicked a bit and asked for a single pot of marmite but, in hindsight, I don't regret the decision. I know for sure that India isn't quite ready for Bovril yet.
Incidentally, the club we went to was bizarrely named Chipstead. Take your pick as to whether it was named after the Chipstead with a population of 6,000 in Surrey or the 'almost a hamlet' Chipstead in Kent.
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