Time for a quick pop quiz. Which of the following have I had to endure in the days leading up to my 33rd birthday?

  • Severe gastro running throughout the family. James on Friday, Zoe and Di on Saturday, and then “my turn” on Saturday night and Sunday. I wish the contents of my stomach had at least been more interesting…
  • More water flowing into the house, by the entryway. An entryway we can’t get fixed, by the way, because all the smug git builders won’t touch it, because it’s both “too complex” and “too small a job”. Doesn’t stop them smirking about it, either. Sods.
  • A visit from an alien Emperor Penguin called Clive, whose job it was to inform me that I have personally won the Spanish lottery.
  • Having my face ripped open by a small dog.
  • Had a hot water bottle spontaneously burst all over my bed, depositing lots of water and frankly disturbing brown goo all over the mattress.

Three out of these five happened — and one of the other ones happened two years ago. As a result, I’m officially declaring my odd-numberered birthdays as canceled until further notice.

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