Contrary to what an anonymous commentator suggested last week, I am far from having completely relapsed, unconcerned about the onset of old age, and delighted for my sister. The relapsing is something that one as pig-headed as myself will not allow to happen, in order to sustain my sense of pride. The ageing is great. Not even being told the morning before my birthday that my grey hairs were visible could detract from the fact that I was really looking forward to the actual festivities which would mark the transition from bright young twenty something to ‘I haven’t done all the things I should have by the time I am’ thirty something. And of course, as Damon Albarn remarked, ‘the mind gets dirty as you get closer to thirty’, so its not all bad…
Squeak did provide a fair bit of distraction, I must admit. But then while she was in the room, it was not possible to do anything except look at her, so I can perhaps be forgiven for the gooeyness…
That age revitalising cream you got for your birthday has certainly rolled back the years, you look like an infant again…
“I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout” – Johnathan Swift, “A Modest Proposal” (1729)
Thanks strcprstskrskrk. Will be sure to pass on Mr Swift’s recipe ideas to Mother of Squeak in time for her first birthday next February.