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They say its my birthday

…and Leo’s getting larger.

I woke up yesterday in the bosom of my friends. Bosoms weren’t involvedin any physical sense, but a couch was. We watched the last hour of Snatch before they had to leave for work. I prepared my bicycle and saddled up to return to the Midlands.

75 miles and a train ride later, I was at my mother’s house, surprised at how bad I wasn’t feeling, considering I had taken no exercise in the last two weeks. All I had done was feast, booze, and festival at great length. At the festival I had felt like a french goose who was being forcefed to bloat its liver. So I was pleasantly surprised that I had managed a slow but long bike ride, only thinking every other minute that I should really stop and buy a motorbike.

Alan Bennett was a playwright. He once pinpointed the age of 32 as that at which a man’s body, “whether it embarrasses you or not, begins to embarrass other people”. I read this on the train yesterday, when I was still 31. I ate a cake. And just before midnight, I ate another. Screw Alan Bennett. From now on, it’s likely that I’ll only have more years than English teeth.

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