Birthday Boy

OK I'll own up to this. I'm a birthday boy today. Huh? Do I HAVE to tell you? You'll be shocked - I am. I'm fifty- er ...

What's that?? OK! I'm FIFTY_NINE!! OK - satisfied now?? Apart from the few really serious old-timers that read this (and hello there Norman!) I feel reasonably old and creaky, like a lighthouse that has endured many storms. Old enough! But not as old as I will next year eh?

Lots of 'pressies' and cards this morning but I must admit I'm a bit disappointed becasue the regimental military band hasn't turned up so far. I was lying awake a few nights ago remembering those days when our Queen's Mother was still alive and a hundred years old and living in St. James' Palace just around the corner from 'Buck House'. The cavalry band of the 'Royal Scots' or the 'Blues and Greys' used to ride past playing "Happy Birthday to You" and everyone would call out "God Bless you Ma'am!" in fruitly but obsequious accents and she would come to the gate to receive bouquets from little children. The BBC Royal Correspondent would explain that we all loved her because she was like "Everybody's Grandma" (except mine that is - I never remember her wearing a crown ..)

On the other hand the TV satirical programme 'Spitting Images' used to portray the Queen's Mum as a racehorse owning 'nutter' with binoculars hanging around her neck and a hip flask stuffed in her pocket. I could never decide which of these contrasting images was true. Maybe both. My grandfather once made her a cup of tea around 1920 but that's another story.

Is that the jingle of cavalry harness I hear in the lane now and the distant sound of bugles? Hmm ... maybe not. Or perhaps the Hyuuga Eelementary School Brass Band is heading over here instead to serenade me. I'll let you know if anyone turns up ...