The Birthday Boy.

It was The Writers birthday on Saturday.
He's now 42.
Which is still a year younger than me.
It was quite a quiet weekend all in all, mainly because he had a bottle of wine, a bottle of port and a bottle of scotch bought for him. Not by me, i hasten to add. So he spent a lot of the weekend sliding either off things or under them.
We went to dinner with the out-laws on Friday night and i spent the first part of the evening arguing gently with Sy's dad.
He keeps on and on at me to put my diary onto the computer, because you can't go wrong if it's all listed in front of you.
I reminded him that he had lost all his contacts and diary into the ether not too long ago, and i would much rather put all my day to day dealings on a calendar and hang it on the wall.
You know where you are with a calendar and pen.
Sy's mum tells me she still has a calendar on the wall in the kitchen.
' if i lose it, at least i know it's only down the back of the dresser, not half way round the universe.'
Luuurve that Brummie humour.
I didn't get Sy a present.
I had every intention of getting him something i know he really wants (which unbelievably, isn't a book), but the car had to be mot'ed...and that cost 175 quid.
Maybe next month.
So, i thought i might give him me, all dressed up and raring to go, after a second night out on Saturday night.
That all went tits up when i realised that if i were to instigate sex in the car at some ungodly hour, in February, then we might end up getting frostbite.
And i know what you're thinking, but he was only worried about his writing fingers. Not any other dangly bits.
Sunday we went to Stratford and bought books (what else...had to happen at some point) and ate chips beside the river.
And i felt really crap afterwards, because i've lost a stone since md January, and i'm sure they've done untold damage.
But i can't say no....it's the Piscean in me. Sy- booze. Me -chocolate and chips. Not necessarily in that order.
And that's that for another year.
It's my birthday in about 3 weeks.
I'm not sure what The Writer has planned for me..probably some gentle ribbing about the fact i'm still older than him, i might get coffee in bed (if i can boot him out to make me one) or maybe a suprise of his making.
I won't hold my breath though.

Till next time,
Shakespeare's Housekeeper xx